Rogue
by doesitweighmorethanaduck
Summary: A young cat's life is changed forever when a strange cat comes to visit the forest he calls his home. She claims to belong to a Clan. Before long, the simple forest cat finds out about his mysterious past...
1. Chapter 1

It was a quiet morning in the damp spruce forest. The winter sun shone down in shafts through the trees, reflecting off the snow and ice glaringly. There wasn't much prey to be found here, but Rogue didn't mind- he would mind later, he knew, when he got hungry, but he wasn't hungry just yet. All he wanted to do right now was relax and take in his surroundings.

"It's another beautiful winter morning~!" the young gray tabby mewed happily. "I'm glad it's not windy anymore!"

Last night, the cold winds had ripped viciously at the empty bird's nest atop the highest black spruce tree in the woods, which Rogue called his home. He would have to rebuild it soon. But not quite yet…

He squinted against the bright sun. Were those pawprints he saw? It seemed that they were- and they were fresh, too. Rogue sniffed curiously at the pawprints. They were bigger than his, but definitely belonged to a cat, not one of the twolegs or the dogs they walked through these trails every now and then.

Indeed, Rogue could detect a fresh cat scent. It looked like it had been just one cat travelling alone, and they had passed through here during the wind storm last night, just a few hours after Rogue has gone to bed. He sniffed indignantly. He scarcely ever got visitors, and when he did they usually got scared by him and ran away, so for a cat to have passed through here and for him to have just missed it was no fair. He didn't want to hurt any cat; he just wanted a friend.

The young cat followed the trail of prints, hoping that the cat- who he could tell from the smell had been a she-cat, a little over his age- was still in the area. The birds were chirping in the trees above him, but Rogue could wait to hunt. A visitor was far rarer than one of the chickadees, redpoles, waxwings, and other such common winter birds that, along with the occasional squirrel (although he always felt guilty hunting squirrels, since they were so cute) he would hunt during the winter, while the mice and voles were hibernating.

Sure enough, the trail eventually led him to an old hollow tree stump. The tree itself had fallen over many seasons ago, before Rogue had come to the spruce forest. The scent of cat was very strong now, and when he listened closely he could hear soft snoring sounds coming from inside.

This was it.

"…Uh, h-hello," Rogue mewed, flinching at the nervous squeak in his voice. "Good morning to you! What brings you to my forest?"

With a flash of yellow-amber fur, the no-longer-sleeping figure inside the stump rose to her feet. Rogue found himself staring down the sharp end of a set of gleaming claws, and standing face to face with the young she-cat they belonged to.

"How did you find-" She broke off. "Never mind; I guess it's obvious enough how you found me. The question is, why was I mouse-brained enough not to pick up on your scent while I was passing through here last night?"

"I don't think you were mouse-brained," Rogue offered helpfully. "I just think the cold can make cats' noses get plugged up. It's harder to smell stuff that way."

The stranger didn't reply. Instead, she narrowed her striking green eyes, looking confused and slightly frightened.

"I'm Rogue, by the way," he went on cheerfully. "These are my woods. You can stay in them too if you want, though. What's your name?"

"My name is Honeypool." The name suited her; her fur was the colour of honey, although it wasn't really shiny. It was very fluffy, though. "…What happened to your face?"

"My face?" he echoed, a crushing disappointment settling onto him. Why did every cat who passed through his woods always have to ask about his face?! "What's wrong with my face?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Honeypool asked incredulously, pointing with her left paw, which was a darker, more amber shade. "You've got… you know…"

Rogue sighed. He had played dumb, but he knew what she meant. Rogue considered himself to be a normal young cat, with his pale gray fur and tabby stripes; his white paws and the white tip at the end of his tail; his pale green eyes. Except that he only had one eye.

Rogue's left ear was split, and his right eye was permanently closed by the three scars running down it. Sometimes cats asked whether his eyeball had been gauged out, or if it was still in there, but useless. Rogue preferred not to answer. He preferred not to talk about his scars.

"I've had them since I was a kit," he explained to every cat who mustered up the courage to ask, as he did to this new cat. Honeypool seemed rude, but she was still a visitor in his woods, so he had to be nice. "I don't really remember how I got them."

Honeypool wasn't done asking questions just yet.

"So, did you say your name was Rogue?" she inquired. "That's more… a thing a cat is than a name, isn't it? I mean, you don't see me going around calling myself 'warrior', even though I am one. Well, I only just got my warrior name a few moons ago, but still…"

Rogue didn't answer her. In fact, he hardly heard the rest of her sentence after the word "warrior". It was a very important word, and though he didn't know it at the time, one that would change his life.

"You're a… warrior cat?!" He made some effort to hide the excitement in his voice, but it wasn't his biggest priority. "I've heard about the warrior cats! I've met cats who've said they've met someone who knows them! Sometimes they even claim to have met them themselves!"

Honeypool looked like what Boss used to call "caught off guard". Rogue didn't really understand what that meant, but he knew that it was kind of like surprised.

"…That's right, I'm a warrior cat," she said slowly. "I'm probably not one of the ones you know of, though. Tell me, what so you know about them?"

"Well, um, they all live together in one big group…" No, that wasn't right. Rogue bit his lip, trying to remember what that black-and-white tom that had passed through the spruce forest last summer. "I mean, in four smaller groups! And they fight sometimes, but they're really all friends, but only sometimes, I think. Sometimes they even fall in love with each other when they're not supposed to!"

"Oh, really now?" Honeypool's whiskers quivered with amusement. "What else do they do 'sometimes'?"

"Well, they go on journeys," Rogue offered. "Are you on a journey? Are you going to save your, uh, group thingy from the lake?"

"Actually, the Clan I come from- that's what those 'group thingies' are called- exists individually. It's not related to the other Clans," she explained. "In fact, our Clan is nomadic. I was just scouting out this area to see if it was suitable for us to live in. And judging by the fact that you've managed to survive here all by yourself for this long, I'd say I got my answer."

That was cool! Rogue could hardly contain his excitement now. Even if it wasn't related to the warrior Clans he had heard about, it would still be amazing to get to meet the cats belonging to it.

"How many of them are there?" he asked. "Cats in your Clan, I mean."

"Well, it's smaller than the re-" She broke off for a second before continuing with a different word. "It's smaller than the rest of the Clans. There's only about ten- no, eleven cats, counting me. And that's including our kits and apprentices, which there are only three of right now- two kits; one apprentice. There were two apprentices, but one of them got scared and decided to leave us for kittypet life after he watched one of our older warriors die."

It was a lot to take in. Rogue, in fact, hadn't taken in very much of it. He'd definitely heard something about two kits and an apprentice watching someone die. _That's dark_ , he thought, although he had the distinct feeling that he wasn't one to talk.

Besides, there was only one thing on his mind at that moment. And it was the most important thing that there could ever be.

"So, if you and your Clan move into my woods…" His breath caught in his throat; he could barely be brave enough to ask. What if she turned him down? "…Can I join you?"

Honeypool looked caught off guard again. She blinked slowly, as though she were thinking it over.

"I mean, you did say you didn't have very many cats," Rogue said quickly, hoping to convince her that it would be a good idea to take him in. "And I'm so lonely out here on my own! I mean, I get by, but it's hard. I know it's hard in Clans as well, but at least you all have each other! I don't have anyone."

He stopped, cringing at his words. He sounded so pathetic! He didn't want Honeypool to see him as a mewling kit, even though that was basically what he was.

"I can hunt pretty well," he went on, trying to sell himself this time rather than evoke pity. "I can fight, too! I mean, I've never actually had to fight anybody, like, to the death or anything, but one time one of the twolegs' dogs got loose and chased me, and I had to scratch it a bit! I said sorry afterwards, though, because it was a nice dog. It couldn't help chasing me; it was just its instincts. Oh yeah, and I can build things! Like for instance, I made steps up the side of my tree so I wouldn't have to climb it in the winter, when it's too slippery. I even made a fort out of branches and some twoleg garbage one time and tried to sleep in that, but the wind made the twoleg garbage fly away after a couple nights, so then it was just sticks. And once the first snowfall of the season came, it collapsed! I could have fixed it, but I decided it wasn't worth it. I like my nest in the tree!"

Honeypool stood in silence for a good twenty seconds or so. By that point, she had climbed out of the stump where she had slept, but was still standing on its roots- Rogue figured that she wanted to make herself look bigger. She wasn't exceptionally small for her age- after all, she had said she had only recently been made a warrior, so she was probably still growing somewhat- but Rogue had been told he was large for his age, which he supposed was true, although he was rather slim.

Finally, she spoke again. Rogue waited with bated breath to hear what she had to say. Would she let him join her Clan, or would he be turned down?

"I'll have to speak with Strikestar," she began cautiously. "He's generally pretty friendly, but he doesn't take too well to rogues. I'm not sure what he'll think of a cat whose _name_ is Rogue! Still, you seem promising enough…"

Rogue was already grinning. Honeypool smiled as well and purred quietly, her right ear flicking slightly forward as she did.

"I'll tell you what, kid." Though her words could just as easily have sounded threatening, they sounded friendly; maybe she was nice after all. "It's been a while, and Strikestar is probably wondering where I've gone. I'm hungry, though, and I'd be willing to bet you wouldn't say no to something to eat right now, either. So the deal is this: you catch something for yourself and something for me within the next half hour, and then you can take me to your little nest in the tree and we'll eat breakfast together. If you can manage that, I'll take you to the place where my Clan spent the night and ask Strikestar about taking in a new cat. Got it?"

"Got it," Rogue replied readily, nodding vigorously. "I'll do my best!"

He spun around and immediately started sniffing the air. He caught the scent of twolegs walking through the trails. That wasn't good; they'd frighten all the prey away. In the other direction, though, he could detect the faint scent of chickadees. They were small birds, but mice were small too, and he'd never heard any cat complaining about that.

Rogue dropped into the hunters' crouch and began the hunt.


	2. Chapter 2

Those chickadees weren't the cleverest prey, and Rogue had been more or less living off of them for a few seasons now. Still, being able to nab one of the small, fluffy birds was always a thrill. His whiskers twitched as he crept slowly forward, pressing his soft, pale belly fur to the snow, making sure to stay downwind of them as they pecked idly at some seeds that twolegs had left for them in the wooden structure that hung from the lowest branch of the tree that was, because of this, one of Rogue's favourite hunting spots.

Closer and closer he crept, holding his breath and feeling the muscles in his back legs contract and then expand and he sprang, claws outstretched. Two chickadees were trapped beneath his paws before the birds could realize what was going on. Rogue finished them both off with quick nips to the neck and took them back to Honeypool, brimming with pride.

"Well, did I do a good job?" he asked, his eye sparkling as he dropped the fresh-kill at her paws, spitting out a few downy feathers.

"I'm impressed," Honeypool admitted. "You bet you did a good job, Rogue. I think Strikestar will be pleased. Now, why don't you show me this nest of yours?"

"Okay!" The two cats picked up their prey and Rogue led Honeypool to the tall black spruce tree where he slept, crossing the twoleg walking trail confidently since there was no sign of twolegs about, as well as because he secretly wanted to show off to Honeypool a bit.

When they reached his tree, it took Rogue a moment to notice that Honeypool was hanging back, eyeing the tree nervously. He guessed that she wasn't a very good tree-climber, but that was no problem, because as he had told her only a few minutes ago, he'd made steps to make climbing it easier. It seemed weird that she'd apparently forgotten already, or maybe she just hadn't quite believed him.

"Come around to the other side," he instructed her, waving his tail in the direction he meant. "I based the design off something twolegs use to go up high! Since I only use it during the winter, I get the sticks wet on the ends and put them where I want them to go, and before long they freeze together! It isn't very practical, but when I tried tying them together using grass it didn't work very well."

"That's amazing," Honeypool breathed. "You really are good at building things. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were a twoleg!"

Rogue swelled with pride. He was really impressing her! And as long as she was being amazed by the prey he caught, or the things he built, she wouldn't have time to stare at his scars. That was always good. He wasn't sure about her remark comparing him to a twoleg, but he had used one of their ladders as inspiration, so he supposed it made sense. Besides, it wasn't necessarily an insult.

Honeypool's paw was shaking, but she put it onto the first rung of his ladder anyway, taking her time but climbing nonetheless. Once she got to the top safely and settled down on the branch where the bird's nest sat nestled in its crook, Rogue followed her up with sure and steady paws after many moons of experience.

"The wind last night got my nest all messed up, but I'm gonna fix it," Rogue assured Honeypool when he saw her staring at it. "I like to line it with moss and feathers, see? But most of them blew out. That isn't good. I'm definitely going to have a hard time getting it back to as good as it was."

"It looks fine," Honeypool reassured him, sniffing at the nest and gently prodding at it. "So, what are we waiting for? Let's eat."

"That sounds good," Rogue agreed.

They ate their chickadees together in silence. Honeypool kept glancing around, never looking entirely at ease. In fact, it occurred to Rogue that she hadn't looked totally at ease since he'd first saw her. Even upon glimpsing her sleeping face through the cracks of the hollow tree stump, he'd noticed her whiskers, ears, and legs twitching violently, as though she were having a nightmare.

When they were finished, Rogue took the feathers he'd plucked out and used them to reline his damaged nest. He would still need to find some more twigs to properly fix it, but this was a start, at least. The sun wasn't shining quite as brightly anymore; clouds had come and blocked its light, which at least meant that Rogue didn't have to squint anymore. He knew that squinting was unattractive, but he couldn't help but screw up his eye when the sun shone in it.

They climbed down the tree. Honeypool told him it was time to take him to Strikestar and the rest of her Clan. Rogue gasped in excitement. He had almost forgotten! How could he have forgotten? He had no idea. How could any cat forget something so big; so important? He was going to join a Clan!

He was going to belong somewhere.

"Now, don't get your hopes to high," Honeypool told him sternly as she walked along and he practically bounced along. "Like I said, Strikestar doesn't like rogues. He could turn you down just as easily as he could take you in."

"I know, I know," he muttered like an impatient kit to a lecturing mother. "But I'm _excited_!"

"Yeah, I'd say you are," said Honeypool, her whiskers quivering with amusement. It was interesting for Rogue to think that he was a source of entertainment for other cats- not some kind of sick entertainment because of his scars, but genuine, pure amusement for no other reason than his kitlike ways. "You're quite the cat, Rogue. Say, how old are you exactly?"

"Um… I'm eight moons old." He couldn't remember much about the first two moons of his life, but he had lived in the black spruce forest for as long as he could remember. "How old are you?"

"Almost a year." She flicked her ear forward like she had earlier. Maybe it was a habit? "You sure seem to have a lot of experience for such a young cat."

"I guess I do," he agreed. "But I've been living here on my own since I was really little, when you were probably still in the nursery."

"That's a good point," she mused.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, with Rogue enjoying the coolness of the late winter morning, they reached a small glade of deciduous trees. Rogue's ears perked up upon seeing the cats lounging around, sharing tongues and eating.

"I'm back, everybody!" Honeypool called. "And I brought somebody with me, too! He says he wants to join our Clan!"

"Good morning, Honeypool," called a dark ginger tom with a fluffy tail who was hunched over a scrawny mouse beside a white she-cat with black flecks along her back and legs. "It's nice to have you back; Specklestone and I were getting a bit worried about you."

"Nice catch, Squirreltail," Honeypool meowed back. Rogue was confused by this statement for a second- it wasn't really a nice catch; it was so small- but then he remembered that it wasn't good to hurt other cats' feelings, so she was probably being nice.

"Hi, Squirreltail and Specklestone!" Rogue greeted them cheerfully, waving his tail in the air. "I'm Rogue! Hey, if you want to eat something bigger, I can probably catch you a bird. Would you like that?"

"I'm sure they're fine, Rogue," Honeypool hissed, shooing him away from the older cats. Once they were out of earshot, she turned to him and whispered, "Those are my parents, and if you want you become a part of this Clan, the first thing you should know is that they hate birds. I've tried to get them to eat birds, since that's obviously the best food source in these parts, but they always refuse. It's aggravating, but no cat can change the ways of a couple of stubborn old warriors like them."

Rogue nodded thoughtfully. It seemed to him that he and Honeypool shared the common trait of blabbing on about a particular thing for a while, getting easily worked up about it. The only difference was that in her case, rather than cheerfully mewing about her life, she seemed to prefer to rant; "letting out some steam", as Boss had called it.

Boss had been an old tom who had stayed with Rogue in the woods for a short time, teaching him how to fend for himself. Rogue's earliest memories that came to him when he closed his eyes were those of the elderly loner showing him how to do the hunter's crouch. He had been a former kittypet, and he used a lot of odd phrases and twoleg expressions that Rogue didn't understand. Boss had left the woods upon growing ill, not wanting Rogue to have to deal with his inevitable future death. A mere kit couldn't handle loss, the old tom had reckoned. It was better to just leave the forest while he was still alive, leaving Rogue to perfect his hunting and fighting techniques by himself.

Now, as Rogue padded through the crisp white snow beside Honeypool, he could feel other cats' eyes burning into his pelt. Boss had had a few scars himself, so he never mentioned Rogue's scars and Rogue never mentioned his. But these cats, despite being the ferocious and brave warriors that Rogue had heard so much about, had perhaps a V-shape carved into an ear and a few bent whiskers among them, but most of them had no physical markings other than those they'd been born with. That wasn't to say they were all in perfect health, however- while Rogue had a scarred face but a full belly, these cats weren't scarred but they were skinny.

Thinking of the way Honeypool's parents had been splitting a single scrawny mouse, Rogue could understand why. It was winter- or as Clan cats called it, leaf-bare, as he remembered from one of the cats who had passed through his woods a while back. That meant prey was scarce. Still, there were so many birds and squirrels about that it seemed strange for a Clan of warrior cats, renowned for their expert hunting skills, to be in such bad shape. It wasn't even extremely cold; Rogue's ladder had taken a while to freeze the other night since it was barely below the freezing temperature.

There were cats here and there in the glade: a tortoiseshell who greeted Honeypool cheerfully, a brown tom who was still asleep despite it being rather late in the morning now, a black she-cat who was talking to a young silver tom who looked a little under Rogue's age. He must have been the apprentice. A white tom was sharing a squirrel with two tiny kits.

Honeypool had said that it was a small Clan, with only eleven cats. Rogue counted them inside his head. _Honeypool, Squirreltail, Specklestone, the, um, tortoiseshell, the sleeping one, the apprentice, his mentor, the two kits and their father…_ That was ten. That meant that Strikestar wasn't any of these cats- which made sense, since the brown tom was sleeping and the white tom looked like a good father, but not exactly leader material. Rogue wondered if it was rude to think that, but he decided that since he didn't say it out loud, it was okay.

"Strikestar? I found this cat who really wants to join the Clan." Honeypool had come to a stop in front of a pine tree with low hanging branches. Rogue could just make out the faint shape of a cat sitting behind the barrier of soft green needles. "He's a bit odd, but he's got spirit, and he can hunt well. I think we should give him a chance."

"…Honeypool, I'm glad you're back." The outline of the cat sitting down stood up, stretching out long, muscular legs. It was a slim yet strong frame- one that belonged to a natural leader; Rogue could tell that much just from his silhouette. "A cat in the woods, you say?" he went on. "Sounds to me like you met a rogue. Are you sure you can trust him?"

"I know I can," she said, although doubt did flash momentarily in her wide green eyes. "He's barely older than Fishpaw- that's the silver-furred apprentice," she added quickly to Rogue- "and besides that, he's a nice cat. He's harmless."

"Let me see this cat," Strikestar meowed.

The branches of the pine tree parted as Strikestar stepped through them. He was a majestic cat. Rogue half expected the clouds to part so the sun could shine down on him and illuminate his pale gray pelt, but nature didn't always do what would be the most poetic. Instead, snow slowly began to drift down, in large, fluffy flakes. The cats in the glade began to grumble, backing under the branches of trees so they wouldn't get wet. A flake fell on Honeypool's nose and she sneezed, which caused Strikestar to purr with amusement, which she seemed embarrassed and a bit flustered about.

On second thought, maybe the snow really was the most poetically appropriate thing that could have happened, because just as snow falls in silence, the world around Rogue seemed to be muted. His frosty white breath drifted in front of him as he stared at what looked like a reflection of him.

Well, it wasn't exactly like a reflection. For one thing, it was a fair bit bigger than he was, and had slightly darker fur. But besides the fact that Rogue was looking at another gray tabby tom with green eyes, Strikestar had the same scars as well, but reversed- while Rogue's left ear was split and his right eye was scratched out, Strikestar's right ear was split and his left eye was scratched out. In that way it really was like looking into a puddle, only this wasn't muddied in the slightest- it was clear as day.

When Rogue looked at Strikestar's face- the expression on it, not the scars- he could see that their reactions had been similar. Honeypool, too, looked shocked, as though it had only just occurred to her that the cat she had found in the woods looked a lot like her leader.

"Who are you," asked the leader of the Clan that Rogue was so excited to join, "and why do you want to join my Clan?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm sorry I didn't get a new chapter up yesterday! I had other commitments and also homework. Hopefully I can upload chapters daily, but if I miss a day now and then, don't worry. Ok, that's it. Let's go!**

Rogue stared, unblinking, at Strikestar. Why did they look so much alike?! Could they be related?

Strikestar cleared his throat, and Rogue realized he was still waiting for an answer.

"Um, I don't know why I wanted to join your Clan," he squeaked nervously. "I just thought it might be nice to be able to be a part of something. I live by myself, and I don't see other cats on a regular basis…"

"He's actually quite skilled for a cat his size," Honeypool chimed in. "I know he's a rogue- in fact, Rogue is actually his name, if you can believe it- but he's not like the ones that have given us trouble in the past, honest."

Strikestar's face didn't shift its shape, but his eye wavered slightly. Rogue could tell that he was thinking pretty hard about something. Although the leader's appearance had taken the young cat by surprise, Rogue still really wanted to join the Clan. He hoped the weird way they looked alike wouldn't make things too complicated- he just wanted to have a home and be a part of something, not feel like he was different from the rest of the cats, or that he had some connection to the leader that would change the way others looked at him.

Other cats already looked at him strangely because of his scars. The fact that he had the same scars as Strikestar would only make that worse if he was going to live with these cats. Still, he really did want to join…

Strikestar finally nodded. Honeypool's eyes lit up, and Rogue took a second to understand what the nod meant, but when it hit him that Strikestar had just agreed to let him join the Clan, he let out a squeal of excitement and happiness. He watched as Strikestar padded to the centre of the glade and jumped up on a tree stump, where Honeypool sat down beside him at its base, her tail tucked neatly between her paws.

"All cats gather round!"

Squirreltail and Specklestone stayed where they were, but their ears did perk up. The tortoiseshell who had greeted Honeypool nudged the brown tom awake and they settled in beside each other. The black she-cat prodded her apprentice away from a scrap of moss and toward the leader. The white tom guided his kits over as well.

"We have a cat here today who would like very much to join our Clan," Strikestar began, pointing his tail to Rogue, whose whiskers were trembling with anticipation. "And since we're lacking in numbers, I've decided to let him. Rogue! From now on you will be an official member of this Clan. Are there any objections?"

It hadn't really occurred to Rogue until just then that neither Honeypool nor Strikestar had ever called the Clan by its name. Now that it had occurred to him, he was confused as to why. All Clans had names- didn't this one?

"What's it called?" he blurted out. "The Clan, I mean. You've never said its name yet."

Strikestar and Honeypool exchanged an uneasy glance. The other cats seemed to be doing the same. He didn't see why- surely it wasn't that big a deal what their Clan's name was?

Honeypool looked at Strikestar, and then out at the Clan, and then at Rogue, and then at the forest around her, and then back at Rogue. Eventually she spoke up, her voice ringing through the crisp, snowy air.

"RogueClan." The rest of the cats looked surprised, but her eyes were unwavering. "It's called RogueClan."

"Is everything called 'rogue' now, or what?" the silver-furred apprentice muttered, but his mentor shushed him. "I mean, rogues are cool and all, but Strikestar's never said anything about-" he continued before being shushed again, this time more forcefully.

"We can't have a cat joining a Clan with the same name as it," mewed one of the white tom's kits. "...Can we?"

Apparently Strikestar had heard the tiny kit, because he addressed it when he spoke again.

"It won't matter, Yellowkit, because he'll be changing his name to a proper Clan name." Rogue noticed that the leader hadn't asked him if that was okay with him or not, but he supposed it didn't matter. His name had always sounded a bit too generic for his tastes anyway. "Now, if there are no objections to Rogue joining our… er, RogueClan, then it's official: he is now a part of it!"

Honeypool looked uncomfortable, Rogue noticed. She was fidgeting; her tail-tip was twitching, and her paws kneaded the snow-covered ground. Another thing that Rogue had noticed was how awkward Strikestar sounded while addressing the Clan. His words didn't sound like those a leader would say; they sounded like those a kit would use- simple and not particularly poetic or insightful.

"Rogue, like I said, you'll need a name." Strikestar hopped off the tree stump and stared down the younger cat. "From now up until the day you when you're given your warrior name, you'll be known as…" He hesitated for a split-second, before going on- "…Rubblepaw! You are honoured by us all, and we welcome you to RogueClan."

"Rubblepaw! Rubblepaw!" the cats chanted. It seemed forced, though, as if they weren't exactly used to doing it. It made sense, since they were such a small Clan, but Rogue- no, his name was Rubblepaw now (it would be hard for him to remember that! It was like his whole identity had just changed)- had assumed up until that point that it was a normal, proper Clan that had just happened to lose a lot of warriors recently, leaving it very small. But what if it had never been a real Clan at all? It seemed as though Honeypool had just made up its name on the spot. What could this mean?

Strikestar touched noses with Rubblepaw, whose head was swirling but he was happy nonetheless. The cheering died down and awkwardly faded out.

"Well," Strikestar meowed stiffly, "I suppose I should introduce you to everyone."

It turned out that the tortoiseshell's name was Emberfur, and the brown tom who had been sleeping earlier was Bearpelt. They were mates, and the parents of Fishpaw, the apprentice. Fishpaw's mentor was named Darkstep. The white tom was called Frostglaze, and he had been left to raise his two kits- Yellowkit, a yellow-furred tomkit, and Daisykit, a white-and-yellow she-kit- by himself after his mate had died. He seemed to be a doing a good job, and he seemed like a nice cat. In fact, most of these cats seemed nice. The only one who Rubblepaw didn't hit it off with was Fishpaw.

"You're not going to try to replace my brother, I hope." The silver apprentice's dark green eyes burned into Rubblepaw's pelt. Since they were both apprentices, they would be sleeping in the same place- along with Frostglaze and his kits, since it was such a small Clan. "Mothpaw left for a good reason, okay?! He couldn't live in a Clan where any cat can die at any time! The only reason I stayed is because Emberfur got all scared and didn't let me out of her sight after that."

"I don't know Mothpaw- he never passed through my part of the woods- but I hope he's doing okay," Rubblepaw mewed, trying to be friendly. "It's not easy to survive out there on your own. I was lucky, because I had Boss to teach me how-"

"Are you saying my brother is dead?! You take that back now!" Fishpaw snarled. He took a swipe at Rubblepaw, who jumped back. "Mothpaw knows what he's doing! He's got warrior training, just like me."

Rubblepaw was pretty sure Darkstep had mentioned that Fishpaw had only been training for a moon and a half, and it had been a few weeks since his brother had run away, but he decided not to bring that up. He didn't like Fishpaw very much anyway. He decided he'd try to make friends with Honeypool instead, even though she was a bit older than him.

They were on their way to… well, no cat really seemed to know exactly where they were going, but they were marching through the woods along the side of the twoleg walking trail. It had stopped snowing a few minutes ago, but it had snowed deep, and the cats were up to their bellies in the fluffy but thick white substance. Frostglaze was carrying Yellowkit in his mouth, while Bearpelt carried Daisykit- he had wanted to help out as a fellow father. Strikestar and Honeypool were at the front, and though Rubblepaw was too far away to hear them properly, he could tell that they were arguing.

Eventually, Honeypool stopped. The rest of the cats stopped as well, sharing confused glances. She beckoned for Rubblepaw to come to the front, and he complied, confused. He hoped this wasn't special treatment for looking like the Clan leader. Then again, he was almost sure it wasn't that, because Strikestar actually looked a bit angry.

"Rubblepaw has a place in these woods that he calls his home," Honeypool explained to the other cats, her voice ringing out clearly and sounding more sure than Strikestar's had at the apprentice ceremony. Rubblepaw began to interject that they wouldn't be his home anymore now that he'd joined the Clan, but she silenced him with a stern glare.

"Since we don't really have a specific place in this forest picked out yet," Strikestar continued for her, "we've decided to let Rubblepaw take us to his area, and we can make that our camp."

Cats murmured with agreement. Rubblepaw was flattered, and he did agree that his part of the woods would be ideal to live in, but he got the feeling that Strikestar wasn't entirely on board with the idea. He was the leader, though, so couldn't he have just refused to go along with what Rubblepaw guessed had been Honeypool's idea? Maybe the lovely honey-coloured cat was just really persuasive.

Rubblepaw blinked, a bit flustered despite not haven said anything aloud. Even if it was just inside his head, it was weird to call another cat "lovely". He hadn't had much experience with she-cats, and when he had they'd always been much older, so he wasn't sure what to do if he found himself starting to like Honeypool as more than a friend. Part of him hoped it wouldn't come to that, but another part of him thought it already had.

"Stop it!" he muttered, shaking his head to snap himself out of this mouse-brained trance. "I've barely even met her."

"Are you… talking to yourself?" Honeypool asked.

"N-no…" He could feel his pelt grow hot under his fur. "And, um, yeah, sure, I'll take you to my home. Follow me; it's this way!"

He moved away from the twoleg trail and began to wade through even deeper snow as they passed under the tree cover. It took a while, but when they reached his tree, several cats gasped at the sight of his ladder. Rubblepaw couldn't tell whether they were impressed or scared that he was too much like a twoleg- he remembered that one time a cat who had passed through his woods had told him that upon seeing his invention.

"Well, here it is!" His face lit up when he saw the other cats' faces; they looked happy! "What do you think?"

"I think we could make this work," said Honeypool, giving him a smile. "I really think we could make this work."


	4. Chapter 4

Snow was piled up on the branches of the trees, causing them to droop down. The heavy sown had made a bunch of saplings bend into each other, creating a tunnel of sorts. This was the tunnel that led into the RogueClan camp.

It had been about a week since Rubblepaw had met Honeypool, and he had never been happier in his life. He truly felt that all of these cats were his friends, except for maybe Fishpaw. Rubblepaw was technically supposed to sleep with him beneath a bramble bush, where the snow had been cleared away, but no cat seemed to object to Rubblepaw sleeping up in his nest in the tree instead.

The problem wasn't so much sharing a nest with Fishpaw as it was training together with him. Strikestar and Honeypool took turns training him, almost as though they were fighting over his possession, and since he and Fishpaw were the only two apprentices, they would often end up having to practice battle moves on each other, or competing over a piece of prey, which did little to help improve their already antagonistic relationship.

On the morning of Rubblepaw's fifth day in the Clan, he woke up to the sound of creaking tree branches. He blinked open his eye and looked up at the sky. It was still mostly dark out, but if he stood and craned his neck a bit, he could just make out the faintest hints of the rising sun over the treetops. Rubblepaw had always enjoyed watching sunrises and sunsets, so he settled in and started grooming himself as he watched the faint streaks of pink and orange overtake the pale gray dawn light.

Sunsets were beautiful as well, but after they were over it was dark. After a sunrise, it was bright and cheery. Rubblepaw enjoyed the night sky, but only on clear nights. When it was a cloudy day, he didn't mind it as much as a cloudy night, because the sun would still shine through the clouds in shafts, and even when it didn't, it would still create a slight glow from behind the clouds. On a cloudy night, you couldn't see anything, and you had to rely on other senses. Rubblepaw's night vision wasn't as good as that of other cats, and he got scared easily, so while sunsets were always pretty, there was always something unsettling lurking behind them. Sunrises, on the other hand, were warm and welcoming and the start of something rather than the end.

"It's nice, isn't it?"

Rubblepaw jumped, his paws slipping on the icy tree branch. He managed to sink his claws into the woods before he could fall, but not before slipping down and ending up dangling precariously. The branch creaked loudly as Rubblepaw looked around, startled, for the cat who had spoken to him.

"Down here, Rubblepaw!" It was Honeypool. Her face held a mixture of amusement and concern. "It looks like you could use a little help. Want me to climb up and get you?"

"No, it's okay," he assured her. "I'm close enough to the ground to drop down."

He demonstrated, retracting his claws from the icy wood and letting himself fall to the ground, landing on all fours with a _poof_ as his body displaced the snow around him. He scrunched up his face against the snow that flew up when he landed. Now Honeypool only looked amused.

"I'm sorry I startled you," she apologized while Rubblepaw shook the snow off his pelt. "I didn't know you were so jumpy. I kind of thought that was my thing."

"You're not jumpy," Rubblepaw said, although he did remember the way she had reacted to his greeting on the day he'd first met her. That had been different, though- he'd been a stranger who had woken her up without warning. "Anyway, you were right- sunrises are nice."

He would have given her his entire psychological explanation as to why sunrises were more comforting than sunsets, but he decided she probably wouldn't be interested. Instead, he changed the subject to a much more universal topic: food.

"Do you want to go hunting with me?" Wait, that didn't sound right. Rubblepaw re-evaluated his words. "That is, could you teach me more about hunting techniques? You know, as my mentor?"

"Sure," Honeypool answered casually, not seeming to notice the fact that Rubblepaw was trying to bury his face in his chest fur out of embarrassment. "I think Strikestar wanted to train you today, but I'm sure he won't mind too much."

"I prefer your training anyway." Rubblepaw cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. He was going to make a fool of himself, one way or another. "Um, what I mean to say is, you seem… more skilled than Strikestar."

"I'm more skilled than the leader, am I?" she purred. "Well, I'm flattered, but I have to disagree with you there. I'm pretty good, but Strikestar is better. That's why he's leader and I'm… well, I guess I'm a deputy, even though he never calls me his deputy."

It was a chilly morning, but the longer he talked to Honeypool, the hotter Rubblepaw's skin grew. At least she couldn't see how hard he was blushing through his fur.

"Okay, let's go hunting, then." He started walking in no particular direction. "We're going hunting together," he informed no cat in particular. "We'll be back shortly."

Rubblepaw's stilted walk lapsed into a more natural one as he passed through the bent-over-tree tunnel and transitioned into an all-out run as he ran deeper into the forest. He heard Honeypool call from behind him for him to wait up, but she didn't sound angry about it, so he guessed that she wasn't actually demanding that he do so. Sure enough, in just a few seconds the honey-pelted she-cat had caught up to him- she was a natural sprinter, that's for sure. The two cats bounded along side by side, sending a spray of snow up behind them. They jumped over fallen trees and boulders, and crossed the occasional frozen-over stream.

Rubblepaw picked up of the scent of prey a few times, but oddly enough, hunting was the last thing on his mind. In fact, although he was enjoying her presence next to him, Honeypool was the last thing on his mind as well. Throughout the last few days, Rubblepaw had been surrounded by other cats, and even though he'd always wanted things to be that way, it felt nice to be running through the woods by himself again, even though he wasn't by himself at all.

They didn't slow down until they reached an area that was marshland during the warmer seasons. Brown, shriveled cattails still stood speckled throughout the stretch of land. It would be hard to run through a patch of land covered in such long grass, even if the grass was now brown and dead. Besides, the marchland was on the other side of the twoleg walking trail, and Rubblepaw could just make out the faint sounds of twolegs coming along the trail. It was surprising that they'd be here so early in the morning, but twolegs did odd things sometimes, and nothing they could do would ever really shock Rubblepaw too much.

All of these things were things that Rubblepaw and Honeypool had no need to communicate with each other. They both simply looked out across the trial for a few seconds, and then turned to each other and nodded. Honeypool stood up and turned around, and Rubblepaw followed her, his pads aching now that the moment and the exhilaration of the running were over. Running on cold snow was not only difficult, but it also made your paws cold. Then again, running on snowless ground was also painful when it was covered in pebbles, which was why Rubblepaw was grateful that he lived in a forest rather than on, say, a rocky beach.

"Now that we're done running, we should stop and hunt for real," Rubblepaw meowed, his belly grumbling. "I'm getting kind of hungry."

"Yeah," was all Honeypool said.

Rubblepaw picked up the scent of squirrel on the wind. He hadn't mentioned anything to Honeypool (or any of the other cats) about how he didn't like hunting squirrels because they were cute and it made him feel bad, since he thought it would make him seem odd, so of course she would be expecting him to catch it. Not wanting to come off as lazy- or worse yet, unable to detect smells- he dropped into the hunter's crouch and looked around for it.

Sure enough, he could see the little red animal nibbling on a nut at the foot of a tree. He crept quietly toward it, preparing to pounce when a startling an unfamiliar yowl ripped through the woods. The squirrel bolted up the tree, but Rubblepaw could handle trees. It was a spruce tree, so he took a running jump and caught a low branch in his mouth. He didn't have to look behind him to tell that Honeypool was watching in confusion, but this strategy had worked for him before, so he didn't see why it wouldn't work now.

His weight pulled the branch in toward the tree, where he momentarily sank his claws into the bark before pushing off with his back legs and instead wrapping his front paws around a higher branch. He hoisted himself up onto the branch and proceeded to hop from branch to higher branch from there. But by the time he had reached the top of the tree, the squirrel had jumped from it into another tree, and was already scurrying down the trunk. Rubblepaw felt disappointed for a second before Honeypool intercepted the squirrel on its way down the trunk of the second tree, catching it in her paws and finishing it off quickly with a nip to the neck.

Now he felt kind of dumb, sitting up in a tree with nothing to prove for himself, since Honeypool had been the one to catch the squirrel in the end, but there was nothing to do but carefully shimmy down the tree until he reached the ground, where he daintily hopped down and gave his fur a couple of nervous licks.

"Good job," he said, motioning to the squirrel. "I guess all my endeavors were pointless."

"That's a fancy word for a cat your age to be using," Honeypool remarked, following up with, "I wouldn't say they were pointless, though, since it was you who scared it into the other tree. I just took an easy opportunity, that's all. You're the one who set it up."

"What was that yowl all about, anyway?" he wondered.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It sounded oddly familiar, though. Maybe some cat got attacked by something."

"Let's go check it out," said Rubblepaw. Honeypool nodded in agreement and they began to run again, but this time with urgency.

It didn't take them long to find the source of the yowl. A frightened-looking young tomcat was pressed up against a tree his fur standing up, while a pale gray she-cat snarled at him. The tom was wearing a collar- he must have been a kittypet. The she-cat was wearing a collar as well, but it wasn't a normal collar. Fangs jutted out of the colourful fabric, and they looked like they came from a mix of prey, dogs, and possibly other cats.

Rubblepaw had heard about a group of cats that wore collars like that, but he was almost certain that that group didn't exist anymore. Maybe this cat was just trying to copy the group he'd heard about- it wouldn't surprise him, as the group in question had gained a certain level of infamy among rogues and loners.

"Hey!" Honeypool's pelt bristled as she approached the cat with the fang-studded collar. "Leave that innocent cat alone!"

The she-cat turned around and hissed.

Rubblepaw stepped up beside Honeypool.

"That's right! We won't stand for the abuse of a helpless cat!"

When the strange cat saw Rubblepaw, something strange happened. It was almost like when he had first seen Strikestar, but rather than a melancholy look of regret, this time the shock was followed by an almost angry look, accompanied by a flash of fear.

"You're still alive," she breathed.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a typically cold and long leaf-bare, but once newleaf finally came, even the shabby abandoned twoleg shack that Mist and her comrades called home seemed bright and cheerful. It was during that newleaf, as the last of the snow had dwindled away, that Mist and Arrow had fallen in love. The brown-and-white tabby tom had swept her off her paws with romantic gestures, and had secured her a high place in the Alliance. It was during the warm time of year when newleaf folded over into greenleaf that she had her kit- one single kit, just like the last time. She didn't know why, but for some reason she couldn't seem to give birth to litters of multiple kits. Other than that she was entirely healthy, so it was a mystery as to why this was.

Her first kit had also been Arrow's, but they hadn't known each other then. She'd been in heat and he was an attractive, single tom. But the second time, she had been glad it was him. She loved him now. That was why she was fonder of her new kit than of her older one, who was around six or seven moons old at the time, and already very rebellious. He questioned the Alliance and the things it did. He even said he didn't want to be King of the Alliance when he came of age, suggesting that the honour be given to his newborn brother instead.

"You are the firstborn," Mist had explained to him as she groomed his unkempt fur, which was a pointless endeavor, seeing as she knew he would just mess it up again. "It is your destiny to be king."

"That's why I bear these… markings, right?" the kit- no, he wasn't really a kit anymore, although not yet an adult either- asked.

"That's right," Mist replied, running her paw over the V-mark in his right ear. "And your brother is a prince. You two both bear the marks of Alliance royalty."

It had broken her heart when her kits had left her. She didn't know where they had gone, or why they'd decided to leave. No, that wasn't quite right- her older son had decided to leave. He had stolen her younger son, who had been but a few weeks old, far too young to make his own decisions. Arrow had looked for them, but he found nothing, save for a few scraps of light gray fur snagged on a bramble bush. The scent of dogs and twolegs hung heavy in the air in the forest on the other side of the Thunderpath, and there was a marshy patch where a young cat could easily drown. Their kits were presumed dead, and though Arrow demanded another heir, he and Mist couldn't have any more kits, no matter how hard they tried. In the end, they decided to steal another kit and raise it as their own. It was the only way…

"You're alive," the pale gray she-cat with the fang-studded collar whispered. "After all this time, my kit… the prince of the Alliance…?"

"Who are you?" Rubblepaw demanded. He didn't know this cat, and he didn't have any idea what she was talking about. "What's the Alliance? What do you mean?"

The strange cat shook her head sadly.

"You don't remember. Of course you don't remember. You were so small," she went on, "and helpless. It seems like only yesterday, but it also feels like it's been a lifetime."

Rubblepaw glanced at Honeypool, who looked just as confused as he was. The kittypet that the strange gray cat had been attacking had taken the opportunity to run away, presumably going back to his twolegs. Kittypets could be annoying, but they were no threat. This cat, though, was something completely different. From the fangs that lined her collar, to the way she spoke to Rubblepaw as though she knew him from somewhere- even the strange familiarity of her scent that Rubblepaw could remember smelling once before, a long time ago. It was a comforting scent, and yet something about it was also unsettling, as if she had hurt him before, and might hurt him again.

"Are you aware that you're on RogueClan territory?" Honeypool asked, her voice stern but not aggressive. Rubblepaw could tell she was putting in effort to keep her fur lying flat and her claws sheathed. "I don't want to hurt you, but if you don't leave now, I'm going to have to use force."

Rubblepaw wasn't sure if this was technically RogueClan territory. They hadn't really decided on any specific boundaries for their territory yet. Since it was such a small Clan, a small amount of territory made sense, but Strikestar let cats roam about more or less wherever they pleased, and no cat had objected yet.

The gray she-cat's eyes narrowed. They were the same shade of green as Strikestar's, and her fur was just a touch lighter than Rubblepaw's own fur, but without tabby stripes and the white patches on his paws and tail. Maybe that was why she was so familiar.

"RogueClan? I've never heard of it," she said in an inquiring voice. "Is it even real, or is it just something you made up to try and scare me away?"

"Well, we've never heard of the Alliance, either," Honeypool hissed. "How do we know that's not made up?"

"You know it's not made up," the intruder retorted, "because your companion bears the mark of Alliance royalty!"

Rubblepaw gasped. Did she mean his scars?!

The stranger purred with amusement.

"He knows what I mean, don't you, Rubble?"

Rubblepaw was startled that this cat seemed to know his name- well, not quite, since she didn't include the "-paw" on the end, but since his name had been Rogue up until a few days ago, it was really weird that she would know about even the "Rubble" part.

"Oh, yes, and about your questions… my name is Mist. I am the queen of the Alliance." Rubblepaw hadn't noticed before, but he noticed now as Mist tipped her head in greeting: she had a scar herself. An "X" shape had been cut into the top of her head. The sight was chilling, and it was obvious that it held some significance. "The Alliance, by the way, is a group of cats just like… and like you, Rubble… who have banded together and made a home for ourselves. We're really not so different from one of those Clan things, except we don't go around picking fights with each other all the time. In fact, we're really quite peaceful most of the time."

"If you don't go around picking fights, why were you abusing that kittypet?" Rubblepaw challenged.

"Oh, I wasn't abusing him," Mist gasped with mock indignity. "In fact, I was doing him a favour- I was offering him a position in the Alliance. He refused, however, so I had to be a bit more forceful than I would have liked to have been…"

"Alright, I've heard enough," Honeypool spat. "I've been diplomatic, but I'm tired of listening to you, fleabag! Rubblepaw, let's teach this ugly 'Alliance queen' a lesson!"

Despite having no reason to feel sorry for this cat, Rubblepaw had to stop himself from objecting to Honeypool's insults. Mist _was_ a bad cat, after all, wasn't she?

Honeypool swiped at Mist, but she wasn't quick enough. Rubblepaw brought his paw down on her tail and stopped her from running for just long enough to run his claws down her flank once, but he was shaken off quickly. Honeypool took the opportunity to tackle Mist to the ground, and the two she-cats rolled around in a tangle of fur and claws and teeth, sending up a spray of snow around them. Rubblepaw couldn't really tell, but it looked like Honeypool was losing. He didn't know what he could do to help.

Then he got an idea. He looked up at a nearby birch tree. Sure enough, some of the higher branches did extend over to where Honeypool and Mist were fighting. Normally he would have tried to calculate how much damage a drop from that height onto snow of that particular depth would do, but there was no time for that now. It would be risky, but climbing trees was one of Rubblepaw's strengths, so it seemed an appropriate thing to do.

He scrunched up his hind legs and leaped as high as he could, digging his claws into the bark and vigorously propelling himself up the trunk. Scraps of white bark flew from behind him as he gritted his teeth and kept his eye focused on the branch he was looking for- one that was sturdy-looking, extended to the right place, and wasn't so high that the drop might seriously hurt him.

He got to the branch in question and wasted no time running daintily across it and to the exact spot that he planned to jump off. It wasn't until he looked down, preparing to jump, that he hesitated. Mist had Honeypool pinned to the ground, and they were both panting heavily. Rubblepaw was too high up to see clearly, but he could just make out a hint of red seeping into the snow beneath Honeypool, although he couldn't tell which cat it was from.

Well, there was no use delaying things now. He jumped down from the tree, claws outstretched. Mist was too busy taunting Honeypool to notice Rubblepaw until he was already practically on top of her, but Honeypool had spotted him up in the tree just before he jumped, her eyes filling with confusion and then widening with realization. She rolled out of the way just in time as Rubblepaw made contact with Mist, bracing himself for the impact.

He felt a flash of pride upon feeling his claws sink into her flesh, but it was tinted with regret at hearing her yowl in pain. Then there was no time to feel anything but pain as Mist, being the seasoned fighter that she clearly was, flipped him over so he took the full impact of the fall, and even went the extra distance by shoving him down into the snow.

Rubblepaw's whole head was engulfed with snow, and even though he loved the stuff, now it wasn't very pleasant. His mouth had been open in a sort of silent scream upon leaping from the tree- or maybe it hadn't been silent, but his blood had been pumping too strong from him to hear it. Now his mouth was stuffed with snow. He could feel it melting inside his mouth. It was a very odd sensation.

Oddly enough, it took Rubblepaw a second or two to realize that he couldn't breathe, and even when he did realize, he didn't immediately start to panic. After all, the fact that his head was in the snow didn't see like a dangerous things; he could easily get it out. The only problem was that when he tried, Mist's paw pressed firmly down on the back of his head. He tried calling out for help, but it was muffled by the snow inside his mouth and around his head, pressing in on him, trapping him.

Then the weight of the paw vanished. Rubblepaw lifted his head, blinking, and turned to see Mist running away, her shoulder bleeding heavily from what he guessed was a bite, since Honeypool was standing over him, blood dripping from her fangs as she gave his fur a few vigorous licks, as though she were a mother grooming a kit.

"Your nose has a scratch on it," Rubblepaw told her, feeling a bit dizzy and tired from the encounter with Mist. He licked the blood off for her. "Your sides and back and legs have some scratches, too…"

"Don't worry about me," she murmured, nudging him onto his paws. "I'm fine. Now, let's get you back to camp."

"O…kay…" But Rubblepaw was too tired to walk. He collapsed in the snow, closing his eye and letting the image of Mist dance through his darkening mind, her words echoing through him and sending tremors all the way down him spine and into the ground, or at least that was what it felt like.

 _Rubble… You're alive… Alliance royalty…_

Who was he really?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Wow, this is a long one, haha! Things are starting to heat up on both fronts here. What will happen next? The only one who knows is… me! Mwahaha!**

Rubblepaw woke up to the sensation of snowflakes falling on his pelt. He opened his eye to see pine branches covering him, although they weren't doing a very good job of blocking out the snow. Some cat would have to weave twigs or long grass through the branches in order to make it into a more suitable sleeping spot. It was a shame, too, since the soft bed of pine needles he was lying on was very comfy.

This was what the warriors had been using as a den, although Rubblepaw wouldn't exactly call it that. It was a shelter, sure, but it wasn't what he pictured when he imagined a den. He wondered why he was in here- why not under the bramble bush where Fishpaw slept?

Rubblepaw shifted his weight around, trying to get up as painlessly as possible. His injuries were minimal, but his muscles were incredibly stiff. He groaned as he rose to his feet, stretching his back out and wincing at the _crick_ sound it made. He padded out of the "den" to see Honeypool sharing tongues with Emberfur. Frostglaze was playing with his kits, and encouraging Fishpaw to join in, but the silver tom scoffed, saying he was "too old".

"I can play with Yellowkit and Daisykit if you want," Rubblepaw offered. "I'm always happy to help out around the Clan."

"Rubblepaw, you're up!" Honeypool glanced up with surprise. Her eyes narrowed when she glanced him over. "You should go back to the den and get some more rest. You still have some snow on your muzzle."

"We all have snow on our muzzles, Honeypool; it's snowing," Emberfur purred. "Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were worrying so much about this Rubblepaw that you must like him quite a bit… but of course we all know a proud she-cat like you would never be distracted by toms."

Honeypool shot Emberfur a glare, but she relaxed and let Rubblepaw play with the kits. They were flicking bits of snow at each other, which Rubblepaw thought seemed dangerous at first, but Frostglaze assured him that they did it all the time. He joined in, flicking up bits of snow at the kits but going easy on them since he was a lot bigger than them.

"You've got snow on your whiskers!" Daisykit squeaked to her brother. "It makes them look like branches on a tree!"

"I don't look like a tree at all," Yellowkit protested, glancing up at Rubblepaw for confirmation, "…do I?"

"You don't," Rubblepaw assured him.

They played together for several minutes. By the time the hunting patrol that Honeypool had said had been out all afternoon looking for prey returned to camp, all three young cats were covered in snow. Honeypool looked at ease the whole time, even though Emberfur kept trying to get her to relax. Frostglaze was certainly relaxed; raising kits on his own was difficult for him, since toms usually left most of the kit-raising to their mates. When the white tom's mate had died, Darkstep had volunteered to take Yellowkit and Daisykit in, but while she was the one who gave them milk when they got hungry, Frostglaze was content to be responsible for his kits' upbringing himself, despite its difficulty.

The hunting patrol was made up by Bearpelt, Specklestone, Darkstep, and Fishpaw. Squirreltail was apparently "off doing something", whatever that meant. Rubblepaw had wondered if Strikestar was with him until the leader jumped down from the top of a pile of snow.

"Ah, Specklestone, how was the hunting?" he asked the returning patrol. Rubblepaw found it odd that he addressed only her by name, even though he was obviously talking to all of them. "I see you've managed to catch a hare."

Rubblepaw's eared pricked up. Was that true? When he checked, he saw that it was. He had to admit he was impressed; hares were a rarity. The cat who had caught it was Bearpelt, who was brimming with pride. Emberfur looked proud of him too, running over to her mate and nuzzling him affectionately. He returned the gesture, setting down his catch in the spot designated as the fresh-kill pile. Specklestone and Squirreltail had shared the red squirrel Rubblepaw and Honeypool had caught together that morning, so there was nothing there at the moment. That quickly changed after the hunting party set down their catches. Rubblepaw suddenly realized that he hadn't eaten anything yet all day, and it was already long past sunhigh- according to the other cats in the Clan, at least, since the sun was covered by snow clouds, so he had no way of telling himself.

His stomach grumbled loudly. He glanced at the ground, his fur prickling with embarrassment when a few cats glanced his way. Fishpaw sneered mockingly. Honeypool looked mildly amused, but didn't comment. She seemed preoccupied, padding over to her mother and whispering something into her ear.

Specklestone nodded after a moment and the two she-cats left together. Maybe they were going to join Squirreltail wherever he was, and help him out with whatever he was doing. Rubblepaw was disappointed that Honeypool wouldn't be eating with him, but maybe she wasn't hungry. Rubblepaw was friendly with most of the cats in RogueClan, but none of them were exactly his friends except for Honeypool, and he didn't really want to eat alone. He supposed that he could just go up to any cat and ask them if he could eat with them, but he suddenly felt shy. He hadn't known these cats for very long, and he didn't want to impose on them…

He backed up, not looking behind him. He jumped with surprise when he felt himself bump up against something. He turned to see Strikestar regarding him with an unreadable expression. The gray tabby leader had apparently snuck around behind him while he'd been watching Honeypool, and he was now standing a few tail-lengths away from the tree he liked to sleep under- he never called it his den, despite the warriors calling their sleeping area a den- with a nuthatch clamped between his jaws. His tail twitched back and forth, signaling that he wanted to be left alone, but his face told a different story. Rubblepaw wasn't sure which one to believe.

"…Do you want to eat with me?" Rubblepaw asked, his voice coming out as a nervous squeak.

"It would be nice," Strikestar meowed, his voice untellingly flat. "I haven't talked to you much, but it might be nice to get to know you."

"Great!" Strikestar was a little scary, but Rubblepaw still wanted to make friends with him. He padded over to the fresh-kill pile and picked out a small vole. He knew it wouldn't be enough to fill him, but he didn't want to seem greedy.

He knew that Honeypool would have scolded him and told him to take something bigger, especially since all he'd had to eat last night was a chickadee, and he'd shared it with Daisykit since she claimed that Yellowkit had stolen some of her food. It had been only the third time the kits had eaten solid food rather than milk, but Darkstep quite a bit older than Frostglaze's mate had been, and her milk was starting to run dry, so the kits would have to make the change permanently very soon.

Daisykit had made sure to thank Rubblepaw for the extra food, but Honeypool hadn't been too thrilled when she found out he'd given away part of his chickadee. She'd told him he had to eat something more substantial, and Rubblepaw had promised to have a big breakfast the next day to make up for it, which she had agreed upon. Of course, Rubblepaw had ended up not having breakfast at all, and now he was selecting something small again. Honeypool would be furious. But she wasn't in the camp right now; she was off doing some unknown activity with her parents, so Rubblepaw didn't have to worry about her nagging him.

At least, that was what he thought.

"You should have something more to eat than that," Strikestar objected, nudging his own fresh-kill toward him. "Here, you can have part of this nuthatch."

"Thanks, but I don't want it," Rubblepaw sighed, pushing it away. There was an incredibly awkward mood in the air, and the two gray tabby toms couldn't seem to look each other in the eye. "I'll nab something for myself if I go on a patrol later."

"I don't think you'll be going on any patrols today." Strikestar's eye darkened, and the shifting clouds overhead illuminated his scars. "Mist is still lurking around out there, waiting for you. We can't let her see you again, or no cat knows what will happen to you."

This took Rubblepaw by surprise. As far as he knew, Mist had run off back to wherever she came from after Honeypool had chased her away.

"How do you know she's still in the forest? Were you out there earlier? Did you see her?" Rubblepaw was filled with increasing confusion as Strikestar shook his head. "Did the patrol see her and report it to you?"

Strikestar shook his head again.

"I don't have to see her, or hear that any other cat saw her, in order to know that she's still there," he muttered. "I just know."

Rubblepaw thought back to the things Mist had said. What did they mean? How did Strikestar know Mist- which he obviously did, seeing as how he could apparently tell she was still in the forest without having to see it or even hear about it himself- and how had they met? Could Mist's mysterious words have some connection to the reason Rubblepaw and Strikestar looked so similar?

"What's the Alliance?"

Rubblepaw stared at Strikestar for a long time, but he gave no answer. Instead, the leader kept eye contact with him for a long time before breaking away and focusing on his nuthatch. He ate slowly, but he didn't talk between mouthfuls, and Rubblepaw realized that he wasn't going to get any answers out of this cat. Well, Rubblepaw was hungry, so he ate his vole fairly quickly, got up, and walked away. He half-expected Strikestar to stop him and finally give him the answer, but he did nothing of the sort, so Rubblepaw left.

There was nothing he could do about the brooding leader now, but there were plenty of things to be done around the camp. Rubblepaw found a patch of long, dead grass where the snow had melted, so he pulled most of it out and padded over to the warrior's den. He had to balance on his hind legs and grip the branches for support, which was difficult since it was a coniferous tree, but he managed to weave the grass between the branches in such a way that the space beneath the tree would at least have slightly better protection against the elements.

It wasn't perfect, though. He'd need some sticks for that, and he wasn't sure where to find any. He supposed he could break some off a tree, but he thought that might call too much attention to him. No cat had spotted him yet, oddly enough, but breaking off sticks would be noisy enough to alert them for sure.

Instead he chose to focus on something else: security. If Mist really was still somewhere in the forest- his forest- she might attack RogueClan! It wasn't likely, but it was possible. Rubblepaw decided to use brambles to make a barrier around the camp. But the only bramble bush he could see was the one that Fishpaw (and, in theory, Rubblepaw too) slept under. He couldn't very well use that.

Well, if he couldn't help out around the Clan, maybe he could do something else instead. He crept quietly away from the rest of his Clanmates, following the trail of her scent to try to locate Honeypool and her parents. As Strikestar had said, Mist was still in the forest, so it was dangerous to go outside of camp alone, Rubblepaw reasoned, even though Honeypool and her mother had left together, and Specklestone was a capable warrior. Still, if Rubblepaw could pretend that he only had the honey-coated she-cat's safety in mind, it made him feel less guilty about following her when she clearly hadn't wanted to be followed.

The snow was still falling, but it was coming down much more lightly now. Rubblepaw crept quietly through the black spruce forest, stopping to sniff the air every few seconds to make sure he didn't lose the trail. They had left no trail of pawprints to follow, probably by walking only on the ice that covered the forest in sheets. It must have slowed them down quite a bit, but they did have quite a head start on Rubblepaw, who didn't bother avoiding the snow, since he didn't see why any cat would follow him and wouldn't really mind much even if they did.

The scent trail led him a long way. In his seven-and-a-half moons living in the black spruce forest, he had wandered often. He'd walked all along the twoleg walking trail multiple times, he'd strolled up and down the Thunderpath wondering if he'd find a twolegplace but never did, and he'd strayed far, far off from the twoleg walking trail in every direction, once so far that he'd come across another Thunderpath, and he'd waded about in the marsh and caught frogs and newts and had seen a beaver a few times but stayed well out of its way, and seen geese that attacked him until he ran up a tree, where he had to wait the whole night before waking up the next morning to be relieved to find that they'd left.

But he'd never gone quite this far in quite this direction and made quite this many twists and turns. He'd never gone down quite this way.

It must have taken almost a half an hour, but eventually he came across a clearing. There was a tree in the centre, with just the cats he'd been hoping to find gathered around it. They were talking in hushed whispers, and huddling close together. Rubblepaw made sure to stay downwind of them as he made his way closer, hoping to hear what they were saying.

He felt awful for doing this as he peered through the brush, holding his breath and straining his ears and hoping desperately to pick up on a single word. But he'd come too far to turn back now. His natural curiosity was far too strong.

"Sometimes… wish there… could have done…" Rubblepaw was close enough now to pick up on some of the words, but not all of them. He was able to hear Honeypool better as he edged closer still, hiding behind a drift of snow. "…Every day I miss… used to… so much trouble…"

Rubblepaw could piece together what she was saying, but it wasn't good enough. He needed to know who she was talking about!

"Dew… remember when… tried to climb… back when we were living in the rock-wall-cave?" As her words became clearer, so did Honeypool herself. Even from behind, Rubblepaw could tell she was upset because of the way she was sitting down, slumping over slightly, her head down and her ears back. Her tail wasn't tucked between her paws like it normally was when she sat; instead, it was splayed out on the snow behind her. "We had gotten so high up, but then we came to a part where there were no more pawholds. I slipped and I started to fall, but I felt a sharp tug on my paw and I stopped falling. When I looked up, you had my paw grasped in your teeth! It was an unorthodox method of rescue, but I'll always be grateful for it."

Honeypool stopped talking for a moment. Her shoulders started to shake. Specklestone and Squirreltail, who were sitting on either side of her, pressed their muzzles into her fur. Honeypool continued, her voice shaking.

"I just wish I could have repaid that kindness when the time came. I should have saved you just like you saved me. Instead I just let them take you…"

Rubblepaw wasn't the best at figuring things out, but he wasn't a mouse-brain. He knew Honeypool was talking about a cat she'd known who had died. What he didn't know yet was what that cat's relation had been to Honeypool. Was Mist involved in this somehow?

"We should go," Specklestone whispered. "Dewpaw wouldn't want to see you sad."

Rubblepaw blinked. Dew _paw_? That meant the cat had been an apprentice when they'd died. It did make sense, he supposed; Honeypool had said she hadn't been a warrior for very long, and she hadn't acted as though she'd lost a cat she was close to very recently.

In fact, he was so concerned with the cat's name that he hadn't really processed what Specklestone had said until it was too late. They were leaving! That meant they'd turn around and see Rubblepaw. In a last-ditch attempt to conceal himself, he dug out a shallow cave for himself and buried himself in the snow. Maybe the family would be too busy mourning to notice him there. But he didn't take the wind into account this time, and when the wind shifted, Rubblepaw knew he was in trouble.

He could just make out the top of Honeypool's head from his current position, but it was enough to tell that she was sniffing the air. Her ears pricked up and her eyes widened. Rubblepaw didn't even have to look to know that her expression was currently shifting from shock to confusion to disbelief to anger.

He braced himself for confrontation as he stepped out form the snow and faced Honeypool, although he couldn't bear to look her in the eyes.

"Rubblepaw," she hissed, her beautiful pelt bristling with fury, "how dare you?"


	7. Chapter 7

It was a strange sensation to see a cat you liked so much be so angry at you. Rubblepaw knew it was entirely his fault, and that there was no excuse for what he'd done. Somehow that knowledge only made it worse. He'd been fully capable of leaving Honeypool and her parents to their own devices- in fact, it would have been a lot more convenient to just leave them alone. If he'd had to know what they were doing, he could have just asked some cat. There would have been no guarantee that they'd answer him, but at least he wouldn't end up making any cat mad at him.

Squirreltail and Specklestone hung back. They didn't look as angry as their daughter, but they did look very unhappy. Behind them, Rubblepaw could finally get a good look at the tree they'd been gathered around. It was a deciduous tree, but not like most of the ones Rubblepaw had seen in his lifetime. Its branches hung down, almost like a coniferous tree, but different. They were slim and silver branches that dangled around the tree, none quite touching the ground, but some reaching down to only a tail-length or less away from it. When it had leaves, it must have been beautiful, but it was pretty even now, with bare branches dusted with snow. At the base of the tree, a stick was propped up in the snow. Even out of context, it would have been obvious that this was a grave. It was very well hidden, and it wouldn't have surprised Rubblepaw much if no other cats knew about it.

"I trusted you, Rubblepaw," Honeypool spat. "You seemed like a nice young cat. I really thought you respected me enough not to do something like this."

Rubblepaw flinched. It hurt to know that he'd done something wrong. He cursed himself for being so curious. Boss had told him it would only lead to trouble.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, although he knew it wouldn't do any good to just apologize. "I didn't know where you guys had gone. I just wanted to find out."

"This is a private spot!" Honeypool angled her ears toward the stick propped upright in the snow. "When Strikestar told us we had to move again, that we had to leave the rock-wall-cave… it meant leaving behind Dewpaw as well. But as soon as I saw this tree, I knew it was special."

She padded back over to the tree, brushing up against it and wrapping her tail around its trunk. She closed her eyes when she did this, and she looked at peace, but when she opened her eyes again and they fixed on Rubblepaw the fury returned to her expression.

"I know it's mouse-brained, but I can't help but feel like this tree is magical," she admitted. "Especially when I come here at night and the moon shines on it. The moon lights it up with such beauty… I could swear I feel other cats with me, even when I know I'm alone."

Rubblepaw could remember tales of a stone that lit up and shone in the moonlight. There had been something magical about that rock, the travelling loner who he'd come across once had told him. One of the loner's relatives had once been a Clan cat, and it was through this loner that Rubblepaw had learned most of what he knew about the Clans. One thing he seemed to remember was the way some of them could talk to dead cats. Maybe this tree was like the stone; maybe it was a vessel for speaking to the magical ghost cats.

"Have you ever tried talking to her through the tree?" he asked. "Like, you know, have you ever tried communicating with the spirit of Dewpaw, or any other dead cats? Have you talked to them in your dreams?"

"What are you meowing about?!" Honeypool asked incredulously. "No cat can speak to the dead. This is just a place to go to grieve. It's not really magical."

Rubblepaw wanted to say more, but Honeypool had apparently said all she wanted to say. She stomped off, her parents following in tow.

Casting one reluctant glance back at the tree that Honeypool insisted wasn't magical, Rubblepaw followed after them. Normally the journey to a place felt longer than the journey back, but this time the opposite was true. He hung back slightly the whole time, his head hanging low in shame. No cat said anything; the only sound was the crunch of the snow underneath their paws.

Well, if he was going to be ignored anyway, Rubblepaw decided that he might as well stop and hunt for something. He really hadn't eaten enough, no matter what he tried to convince himself, and even though he tried to guilt himself out of it by telling himself that he didn't deserve to eat because he'd spied on Honeypool, he knew he had to obey his stomach before his conscience.

He stopped, half-hoping that Honeypool or one of her parents would notice and ask why he'd stopped walking. But they all kept on moving. Rubblepaw wasn't sure whether to feel happy or sad about that. The scent of ravens hung heavily in the air; he'd have to watch out for the large black birds. Rubblepaw could just make out the sound of a woodpecker pecking away at an old, dead tree above him. He stared up at it, wondering if he could manage to catch it.

His stomach growled- apparently it wanted him to try. He began to climb the tree, trying to be as quiet as possible while doing it.

The woodpecker was making too much noise itself to hear him coming. He was barely a mouse-length away from it when-

A cat was already in the tree! A pair of devilish green eyes gazed down on his from the braches above. Rubblepaw froze, his paw dangling above him, his other three paws supporting him with their claws digging into the trunk. The woodpecker still hadn't detected his presence, through some miracle. The cat in the branches blinked once but made no move to attack. Rubblepaw slowly lowered his raised paw, keeping his eye fixed on the cat above him. He couldn't get a good look at them, since the tree branches blocked his view, but once he spotted the fang-studded collar he didn't have to see any more of them to know he was in danger.

It wasn't Mist, despite the green eyes- he could make out snatches of brown fur, with darker brown spots forming what looked like a tabby pattern, but more fragmented. This cat was smaller than Mist, too, and a tom. Rubblepaw's ears flattened in fear almost involuntarily, but he didn't want to look like a coward, so in one swift motion, he reached out and grabbed the woodpecker off the tree, sinking his claws into its feathers and bringing it up to his jaws for a quick death bite.

The cat in the tree chose that moment to strike.

Rubblepaw had only a fraction of a second to take in the cat leaping down at him. A fall from this height would hurt, and a fall from this height with an attacking cat leaping on top of you as you fell would probably be best avoided in general. At least the regular fall would have a high chance of survival. So Rubblepaw let go of the tree with only his left paws. He swung down and to the right, and his attacker almost went right past him- almost.

The brown tom's claws were odd. They were a lot bigger than regular claws. Rubblepaw would later learn in a lengthy discussion with Strikestar that they were, in fact, fangs, just like the ones that studded the collars of these Alliance cats. And it was with these fang-claws that Rubblepaw felt himself being scratched. Well, maybe "scratched" isn't the right word. It was closer to "slashed", really. The impact and the initial stinging pain was enough to make Rubblepaw lose his hold on the tree trunk for just long enough to drop away from it all together.

The good thing was, now his attacker was below him. Rubblepaw rolled to absorb the impact upon hitting the snow, which the brown cat failed to do, leading to him crashing down and making a sort of crater in the snow where he'd landed. Rubblepaw might have found it funny if it weren't for the fact that something very similar had happened to him yesterday.

"Are you okay?" he asked despite himself.

"I'm fine, no thanks to you!" his attacker snapped, climbing up and shaking snow off his pelt. He really was a young cat- maybe even younger than Rubblepaw. "Look, I can tell you're strong, so why don't you just come with me to Lady Mist before this turns into a real fight?"

"I don't want to go to Lady Mist," Rubblepaw told him. "I have no connection to her, and I feel no obligation to act under her orders."

He was talking as fancily as he could, since Boss had taught him that it was good to talk fancy when trying to be diplomatic. But maybe this cat was too uneducated to understand him.

"Wait, did you just say you have no connection to Mist?!" The young brown cat snorted, as if that was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. "But you're her son!"

"No I'm not. I… _can't_ … be…"

Rubblepaw faltered. He couldn't think of any good reasons why that couldn't be true, other than "because she's evil!" or something equally mouse-brained. In fact, a lot of things would make more sense that way. It would explain how she seemed to know him, why they looked vaguely similar, and why Rubblepaw had never known his parents.

Despite all the things that were racing through Rubblepaw's head, he couldn't say any of them to the cat standing in front of him. Maybe if Honeypool wasn't mad at him he could confide them to her, but even that wouldn't feel quite right. Something deep inside Rubblepaw knew that this was something he had to talk to Strikestar about.

"By the way, what's your name?" Rubblepaw asked, not for lack of anything better to ask, but for lack of the ability to say it. "I'm Rubblepaw, but I guess you knew that already."

"Oh, me?" The young cat looked a bit puzzled, as though he were wondering why anybody would care about his name. "I'm Mothpaw."

He walked right past the stunned Rubblepaw, no doubt on his way to report back to Mist. Rubblepaw felt oddly numb as he slowly bent down and picked up the now mangled body of the woodpecker, whose feathers had begun to be coated in frost. It felt cold inside his mouth.

What could a cat do with that information?


	8. Chapter 8

Too much had happened all at once. It was way too much to take in. Rubblepaw had really and truly intended to tell the others about his encounter, but somehow he ended up forgetting. He had eaten his woodpecker and walked the rest of the way back to camp, where he had spent the next few hours pacing around uselessly, a million thoughts rushing through his head at once before the thoughts finally slowed to a stop and his mind was left blank. That was when he padded over to his tree, climbed up his ladder, and settled down in his nest.

The next few days passed in a blur. Rubblepaw knew he had to tell some cat about seeing Mothpaw in the woods. Their lost apprentice was alive! But he was a member of the Alliance now…

While on a patrol with Fishpaw, he had genuinely considered telling the silver tom that he'd seen his brother. But Fishpaw struck Rubblepaw as the kind of cat who might value blood relations over Clan loyalties. What if he decided to leave RogueClan and join the Alliance like his brother?

Rubblepaw tended to avoid Strikestar while hanging about the camp in his free time, and even though he really wanted to tell the leader what Mothpaw had said about Mist, he ended up not saying anything about it. Honeypool still wasn't speaking to him, which Rubblepaw honestly couldn't blame her for. It seemed like the only cat in RogueClan he could really talk to comfortably was Frostglaze. The white tom was friendly, and playing with Yellowkit and Daisykit was always fun. Rubblepaw felt as if he could tell Frostglaze anything and he wouldn't judge. Emberfur was another cat he felt comfortable around, but she often hung out with Honeypool, so it was awkward spending time with her sometimes.

Strikestar had more or less become Rubblepaw's official mentor now. Even though talking to the gray tabby leader was hard for Rubblepaw to do, learning from him was fun. Strikestar wasn't the ideal leader, but he was a good mentor. He seemed to know a lot of fighting moves, and one sunny afternoon, he and Darkstep made the decision to have Rubblepaw and Fishpaw practice their moves against each other in the clearing where RogueClan had been located before Rogue had showed them his living area. This spot hadn't been great for a camp, but it was empty and flat, making it a good training area, which was what it was used for. It was also a nice spot to sit in the sun and warm yourself.

"Okay, Rubblepaw, are you ready to show off what you've learned?" Strikestar asked.

Rubblepaw nodded, flexing his claws even though claws would be kept sheathed during training. Fishpaw stood across from him, looking ready for a fight, and confident in his abilities despite not having any real battle experience. Of course, Rubblepaw wasn't exactly a seasoned veteran himself, but he had gotten a taste of real combat going up against Mist, which the rest of the Clan knew about, and Mothpaw, which the rest of the Clan did not know about.

"You can start now, then," said Strikestar, nodding toward the two young toms. "Fight until one of you is knocked down and doesn't get up for ten seconds. And… begin!"

Fishpaw wasted no time in tackling Rubblepaw to the ground and swiping furiously at his face. It was a good thing his claws were sheathed, or Rubblepaw's face would be getting even more scarred than it already was right now.

Rubblepaw used his hind legs to throw Fishpaw off of him. He swiveled around and pinned him down; now he was the one on top. It didn't last, though. Fishpaw batted Rubblepaw's legs out from under him and dove out from underneath, reaching around behind and running his paw down Rubblepaw's flank.

Rubblepaw retaliated, snapping at Fishpaw, who ducked down. Rubblepaw placed his paw on Fishpaw's forehead and pressed down, effectively trapping him. It was time to finish this.

Apparently Fishpaw thought so too. His head was being pushed down, but his legs were all still free. That had been Rubblepaw's primary mistake. By the time Rubblepaw noticed the paw approaching his cheek, the only way to avoid it was letting go. Fishpaw sprang back up in an instant, panting heavily. Rubblepaw watched carefully; he wouldn't put anything past his rival apprentice.

Sure enough, Fishpaw was slowly slinking around to Rubblepaw's left side; he was trying to get in his blind spot! Rubblepaw turned his head to make sure he didn't lose sight of Fishpaw, but he was too quick. He lost sight of him for a second, and in that second Fishpaw struck! Rubblepaw felt himself being driven into the snow. He was tired of having that happen to him. Luckily, this was only a training exercise, so if he just gave up now nothing bad would happen. He didn't want to give up, though; he knew that Fishpaw would taunt him for it. So he pulled Fishpaw in close and then threw him away, taking the moment it took the silver cat to recover to lunge at him and pin him down.

Fishpaw struggled beneath him, his breath coming out in short puffs of white in the frosty air. Rubblepaw had to cath him off guard before he could regain control.

"Your fighting style… is pretty neat," he huffed. "It reminds me a lot of… your brother's."

It seemed to take Fishpaw a moment to understand the meaning of Rubblepaw's words. But when it hit him, it hit him hard. His eyes widened and his muscles went limp for just long enough for Rubblepaw to press down more firmly, preventing him from moving.

"You fought my brother?"

"I met him in the forest," Rubblepaw confessed. After days of keeping his encounter with Mothpaw secret, it finally all came tumbling out for Fishpaw, the cat he disliked the most of any cat in RogueClan, and who seemed to absolutely hate him. "I had been curious about where Honeypool and her parents had gone, so I followed their scent trail and found them… doing something by a tree." Confession or not, Rubblepaw wasn't about to betray his friend even further by telling Fishpaw her secret. "They got mad and left. I stopped to hunt, but there was a cat in the tree. It jumped down and we fought. He told me that his name was Mothpaw. He was wearing a fang-studded collar and said he reported to Lady Mist. He also said that Mist was my mother."

"What?!" Fishpaw gasped.

Strikestar inhaled sharply. In the heated practice battle against Fishpaw, Rubblepaw had almost forgotten that their mentors were there as well. Now Strikestar had found out the very thing that Rubblepaw had intended to tell him- but not in the way he had planned.

"The match is over," Darkstep called. "Rubblepaw is the winner."

She pushed Rubblepaw off of Fishpaw and grabbed her apprentice by the scruff of the neck, dragging him away in a hurry. Rubblepaw was left alone with Strikestar.

"Rubblepaw, he was an Alliance cat," Strikestar said sharply. "You can't believe a word he says! Don't believe him!"

"But it makes so much sense!" Rubblepaw wanted to explain all the reasons why Mist being his mother actually answered a lot of questions. But Strikestar's voice and gaze were both firm.

"Mist is just a crazy she-cat who calls herself the 'Alliance Queen'!" There was anger creeping up into Strikestar's voice now. "You can't trust her, and you must never join her, no matter what she tells you! If you do, you will be the prince of the Alliance… but it would be the worst thing that could ever happen to you. Your life will be devoted to a band of cats that care nothing about you! In fact, they'll all want you dead, because then they'll be the ruler. If you manage to not be killed by your subjects, and avoid starving to death, get ready to die of wounds or illness. They don't have any medical knowledge in the Alliance. Cats that aren't strong get served, but only if they're in positions of power. How do you get into a position of power? By being strong- or by simply being Alliance royalty!"

Rubblepaw blinked. He hadn't expected Strikestar to go into a full-blown rant. It sounded as though he knew the Alliance inside out, and had had some bad experiences with it himself.

"I never said I was going to join Mist," he said slowly. "I just told you what she told me."

"Rubblepaw, I just want you to be kept safe," Strikestar told him, his voice thick with emotion. "You need to trust me, okay? The Alliance is a messed-up system. Even for the royalty, life is awful. They're just a bunch of rogues and loners and former kittypets who wanted to pretend they were something bigger than they were."

Rubblepaw nodded; it seemed to be the only way to shut Strikestar up. As much as he respected what the leader was saying, he didn't want to hear him rant about how awful the Alliance was all day.

Instead, he raised another issue. It was a topic that had been nagging him since the first day he'd been in RogueClan, a question that had been at the back of his mind for nearly two weeks now.

"Why did you give me the name you did?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, why did you name me Rubblepaw? Why not Roguepaw?" he asked. "I mean, I like the name you gave me better, but it's still odd. Where did the name 'Rubble' come from? When Mist saw me, she called me Rubble. How did she know? How did _you_ know?"

Strikestar didn't answer. Instead, he turned and walked silently away. Rubblepaw knew he wasn't going to get an answer out of the mysterious leader today. But he didn't need one, because the answer hit him all at once as he re-entered the RogueClan camp.

Honeypool was lounging in a patch of sunlight, presumably daydreaming. Rubblepaw knew she was still mad at him for spying on her, but the new, undeniable knowledge that pressed inside of him was too much for him to not tell any cat.

"He's my brother," he blurted.

Honeypool sat up, startled. Her eyes narrowed.

"Rubblepaw, don't talk to me. I don't want to-" She broke off, staring back at Rubblepaw inquisitively. "…Wait, what do you mean?"

"It's obvious, really," Rubblepaw said, feeling mouse-brained for not figuring it out himself long ago. "I should have known since the beginning. Strikestar and I… are brothers."

Oddly enough, Honeypool didn't gasp, or even look remotely surprised. Instead, her expression softened, looking almost amused. Her ear flicked forward, as it tended to do when she was happy.

"I can't believe it took you this long to figure it out," she purred. "It must feel pretty cool to be both the son of the Alliance queen and the little brother of the leader of RogueClan, hmm? I'm just a normal cat, so I can't imagine how you're feeling right now."

"Wait… you knew?" Rubblepaw couldn't believe his ears. "You knew all along that I was Strikestar's brother and you didn't tell me?!"

"Of course I didn't tell you," she meowed. "Your brother wanted to keep you safe. Who knows what you might have done had you known the Clan leader had been next in line to be king of the Alliance…"


	9. Chapter 9

Back at the rock-wall-cave, life had been a lot simpler. As a kit nearly old enough to become an apprentice, Dewpaw had been an eager and energetic young she-cat. Honeypool hadn't been much different herself back then. But one of the last things that their former leader had done before dying and appointing the young warrior Strikestar to take his place was to make the two sisters apprentices. They didn't exactly have mentors, but their parents were to be responsible for their warrior training. On their very first day as apprentices, they went out into the forest outside the cave.

"Isn't this pretty, Honeypaw?" Dewpaw had asked, her ear twitching with excitement. It was a tic that the littermates shared- their ears would flick forward when they were excited or happy. "It kind of reminds me of the old place by the river."

"I liked that place," Honeypaw had said wistfully. "Why'd we have to leave? It's no fair! I wish we could go back there."

"It's like Acornstar told us, remember? There were too many twolegs." Dewpaw had always been the more reasonable of the two, and yet it had been her who had brought up the idea that had led to the worst moment in Honeypool's life. "But when we get older and stronger, maybe we could go back on our own someday."

"We're apprentices now; we're allowed to leave the Clan camp," Honeypaw had noted. "Maybe we can go right now!"

"We can't do that, mouse-brain!" Dewpaw had batted at her sister teasingly, but her eyes had shown real concern. "We'd get in trouble, and it would be really dangerous, too."

"But can we go off somewhere a bit closer?" Honeypaw had asked hopefully.

"…I guess so," Dewpaw had reluctantly agreed. "But we should only up to the thunderpath! If we go any more past that, it'll get too dangerous."

"Okay, okay," Honeypaw had grumbled. "Hey, Dewpaw, I'll race you there!"

She took off running ahead of her sister, who followed her after a quick glance behind her to make sure they weren't being observed. The two new apprentices had run freely and happily for a few blissful moments before…

"Aww, we're here already!" Honeypaw's face fell. "Let's go just a bit farther, Dewpaw, please?"

Dewpaw had reluctantly agreed- but just a little farther, they didn't want their parents to get worried and go looking for them- and crossed the thunderpath, which fortunately wasn't very busy. They hadn't noticed how far they'd gone until they got to a part of the woods where they found another cat.

"Hello, what's your name?" Honeypaw has asked amiably to the mangy brown tom. "I'm Honeypaw! This is my sister Dewpaw. We're from a Clan!"

Thinking back to that day now, Honeypool knew that Dewpaw had wanted to warn her not to talk to this stranger. But being the naïve apprentice that she was, she'd been too friendly with the strange brown cat, and because of that…

The cat had struck! Dewpaw had immediately jumped to defend Honeypaw, who drew back, suddenly realizing what was happening and just how bad a situation she'd gotten herself into. Dewpaw had been a good fighter for a cat her size, but it had been useless against the adult cat attacking them. Honeypaw had tried to fight too, but she'd been knocked back instantly. As she'd struggled to get up, Dewpaw had torn her gaze away from the attacker for just long enough to tell her to run.

"Dewpaw, I can help you!" Terror had risen in Honeypaw's voice. "I can fight! I've got claws, and fangs, and Acornstar said I have a lot of fighting spirit! Together we'll be strong enough to defeat this bad guy!"

"Get away, Honeypaw," Dewpaw had cried. "Go tell Acornstar to come back here and save me! Run fast, Honeypaw! Now!"

Honeypaw certainly had run away fast, but just as she was clearing a boulder she had heard Dewpaw's scream split the warm newleaf air. She'd considered going back, but a long look behind her told her everything she needed to know. There were tufts of fur and blood splatter on the ground, and the brown tom seemed to be dragging Dewpaw away. Honeypaw didn't know f her sister was still alive or not at that moment, but she knew that she couldn't save her.

So it really was best, Honeypool found while thinking back to that day, for her to just imagine that she'd known for a fact that Dewpaw was already dead. If she thought about it any other way, it would just make it easier to entertain the notion that she was still alive somehow, and Honeypool knew that if she thought up such a ridiculous fantasy, she'd only find herself believing it, and that would only make her get hurt again later on.

Rubblepaw's relationship with Strikestar seemed as though it ought to change now that he knew they were siblings, but it didn't seem to. Now that Honeypool had seemingly inexplicably forgiven him for spying on her and stopped avoiding him, she was the one doing most of his training. Once she'd even climbed up into his tree and slept in his nest on a night Rubblepaw had decided to sleep with Fishpaw under the bramble bush. So his relationship with Honeypool was great now, but his relationship with Strikestar- with his brother- was anything but that.

"Strikestar, talk to me, please," Rubblepaw had begged him once when they'd gone out on a patrol together. "How long did you know I was your brother?"

"I knew from the moment you were born," he'd replied gruffly. "I never stopped knowing. I just stopped knowing where you were for a while."

"Oh, okay." It had seemed like a reasonable answer to Rubblepaw, so he'd dropped the issue, quitting while he was ahead.

Now, as he padded around the camp with a bundle of sticks in his mouth, Strikestar approached him. It took Rubblepaw by surprise that the leader was coming up to him after such a long time of not talking to him, at least not about anything really important.

"What are you doing?" There was a softness in Strikestar's eye that Rubblepaw hadn't expected to see. "Are you trying to build a dam like a beaver?"

"Mm jmth trmmng-"

"I can't understand you with all those sticks in your mouth," Strikestar purred. "Why don't you set them down first?"

Rubblepaw nodded, placing his bundle of sticks on the ground. There was work to be done, but it could wait.

"I'm going to make the camp more secure," he mewed. "I found some twoleg garbage on the side of the trail that I thought I could use as a barrier, but there's not enough of it to go all the way around, so I'm using these sticks as levers to lift up rocks so I can move them over to fill in the gaps. The reason I have so many is because… um… I guess I just got a bit carried away with stick collecting."

"That sounds like quite a plan." Strikestar sounded genuinely impressed, which cats often did when Rubblepaw showed off his ideas and inventions. "Care to show me how it works?"

"Okay, see that boulder over there?" Rubblepaw motioned with his tail, picking up one of the firmer sticks. "I'm going to lift it out of the ground. It's gonna be hard because it's leaf-bare, but if I try hard enough, it might work."

He went over to the boulder and, gripping the stick in his teeth, wedged it under the boulder, the top of which poked out of the snow at quite an angle. Rubblepaw had seen it during the warmer seasons, so he knew it wasn't embedded too deeply in the ground, making it an ideal choice for this kind of thing.

Sure enough, the boulder shifted slightly. Rubblepaw pressed harder on the stick, stepping on top of it and pressing his full weight against it to make it lift the boulder higher. When he felt he had displaced it enough, he dropped the stick and pushed. The boulder budged a few whisker-lengths.

"You're doing a good job, Rubblepaw," Strikestar called. "Try to roll the boulder instead of just pushing it along; it might be easier!"

Rubblepaw was pleasantly surprised for the good advice. He did as Strikestar said and, sure enough, the boulder moved a lot more easily when rolled. He got it into place and stepped back, admiring his work.

Pieces of hard, jagged twolegs materials were stuck in the ground in a ring around the RogueClan camp, expect at the "tunnel" the used the get in and out, which was no longer a tunnel by any means, since a lot of snow had melted and the tree branches were no longer weighed down. Rubblepaw still called it a tunnel, though, as did Bearpelt, who Rubblepaw hadn't interacted much with and wasn't really sure if he wanted to. It was hard to tell what Emberfur saw in him, especially since she was such a good-looking, smart, and kind cat herself… but maybe not quite as much so as Honeypool.

"Do you think it'll work?" Rubblepaw asked Strikestar once he had finished enclosing the camp with twoleg garbage and rocks. "Do you think this will protect us from the Alliance?"

"I think it'll help," Strikestar answered, sounding like he was selecting his words carefully. "But with the Alliance, you can never be too sure. They'll stop at nothing once they get their minds set on something."

"You know because you were born into the Alliance, right?"

Strikestar looked away, not answering. The Alliance wasn't something that Rubblepaw knew very much about, but Strikestar must have been old enough when he left to remember living as a part of it- enough to make him not want to give his younger brother the information he so desperately wanted about things like Mist's motives, or why and how Mothpaw had ended up as a member of the Alliance.

Maybe some other cat knew- like Honeypool, for instance. Or maybe he'd just have to go on not knowing for a bit longer.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This is another pretty long chapter… I really didn't intend for it to be this long! Also, I made an avatar for myself! It's fanart of something that isn't warriors, so you probably wouldn't recognize the characters, but let me know if you think it looks good, okay? Okay, enough about me, let's see what these crazy cats are up to now…**

The little twoleg-made structure that the birds would flock around was filled back up with seeds, so it was an ideal time to catch a few of the unsuspecting creatures before the structure was emptied out again. Using the wooden seed-filled structure to his advantage while hunting was convenient, but it did require hanging around right by the twoleg walking trail, so Rubblepaw always had to be careful when doing it. Honeypool was with him, and he was more than happy to take the opportunity to show off to her a little, even though catching a bird while it was busy eating wasn't exactly the most skillful way of hunting.

"Are you sure this method really works?" Honeypool asked as they approached the wooden structure, making sure to stay low on the side of the walking trail. "I mean, is the risk of getting spotted by twolegs really worth it?"

"Oh, don't worry," Rubblepaw assured her confidently. "The twolegs that come by on this trail are more likely to be looking out for particular kinds of trees than for wild cats, anyway."

"That's a good point," she agreed. "So, is that the structure you were talking about?"

Rubblepaw looked up. Honeypool was angling her ears toward a large piece of twoleg furniture. It was soft and made a good nest, but it wasn't good at attracting prey. He shook his head, nudging her head over to the structure that the birds were pecking at.

"That's it over there," he told her. "Twolegs come and fill it up with the food that birds and squirrels like, so they flock around it, making it easier to catch them."

"It looks like a twoleg den," Honeypool observed. "I've only seen twoleg dens myself once when we were on the trip from the place I was born to the rock-wall-cave, and again on the trip from the rock-wall-cave to here. I don't remember the first trip very well, but when I saw a twolegplace the second time, I recognized it for what it was instantly."

"It sure is interesting that RogueClan is nomadic," Rubblepaw noted. "I've heard a lot about Clans form cats that have passed through my forest, but the ones they described weren't anything like ours. For instance, they apparently have special cats who heal other cats but aren't allowed to fall in love but they usually do anyway, and they can even talk to spirits sometimes! It would be cool if we had a cat like that, but I guess we don't. We don't have a cat who's second-in-command, either, but if we did I think it'd be you. You'd be a natural."

Suddenly wondering if he'd said too much, he dropped into the hunter's crouch in order to drop the conversation. There were a few chickadees on the ground around the structure, but there was a nuthatch perched on it. Rubblepaw decided to take a chance and jumped up to the nuthatch, taking it in his jaws and knocking into the structure, which swung back and forth violently while Rubblepaw clung to it, the still alive bird struggling in his mouth. He bit down harder to kill it and awkwardly dropped down from the structure. Usually things went a bit smoother than that.

Honeypool certainly seemed to be enjoying his mishaps. Her whiskers quivered with amusement, but she did also seem somewhat impressed by Rubblepaw's skills.

The chickadees on the ground had been frightened by Rubblepaw's disruption of their feeding, and they flew off in different directions. Amazingly, Honeypool jumped up and managed to nab one out of the air as it fled.

"That was cool!" Rubblepaw squealed, immediately cringing at his overly enthusiastic voice. "I mean, it was pretty neat how you caught that chickadee."

"Thanks."

They headed back to camp with their fresh-kill, talking and purring and having a nice conversation. It wasn't until they reached the no-longer-a-tunnel that they realized something was wrong. Some of the saplings had branches broken off, and one of them had been knocked over altogether. There hadn't been any heavy wind storms in a while, so it couldn't have happened naturally.

That on its own was unnerving enough, but it got worse; the RogueClan camp had clearly served as a battlefield in the time that Rubblepaw and Honeypool had been out. There were patches of snow stained red with blood, and scraps of fur snagged on the bramble patch that served as the apprentices' den. The air hung heavy with a scent that Rubblepaw recognized from Mist and Mothpaw- the Alliance had attacked.

Shocked, Rubblepaw and Honeypool buried their fresh-kill in the snow to preserve it for a few minutes while they went to investigate the ruined camp. Braches and rocks littered the ground, as well as scraps of the hard twoleg material that Rubblepaw had used to make a barrier. He'd been mouse-brained to think that barrier would work, but it had seemed like a good defense system at the time. He'd obviously been wrong.

There didn't seem to be any cats in the clearing, alive or dead- not out in the open, anyway. Rubblepaw padded slowly through the camp, looking around at the mess that had been made. He could hear some of his Clanmates talking from a few fox-lengths away, under the branches of the tree where the warriors slept. He went over to the tree and slipped under the low-hanging needled branches, with Honeypool following behind him.

"Who's there?!" Strikestar whipped around, teeth bared and claws unsheathed. He had a deep gash running down his side, and his already V-marked ear had been partially chewed off at the tip.

The leader relaxed when he saw Rubblepaw and Honeypool, retracting his claws and flattening his fur.

"Oh, good, you're back," he said, sounding truly relieved that the two young cats were back in the camp- since the Alliance had obviously attacked, he must have been worried that they'd encountered them as well. "Well, I would say that you might as well make yourselves useful, but I don't think Rubblepaw should be put in any potential danger. Honeypool, you can go scope out the surrounding area for remaining Alliance cats; Rubblepaw, you stay here with me where it's safe."

Rubblepaw was glad that his brother cared for his well-being, but he didn't want to put Honeypool in danger while he was kept out of it.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," he meowed, puffing out his chest and trying to seem braver than he really was. "If she's doing it, so am I!"

"Rubblepaw, you're just an apprentice," Honeypool told him softly. Then she turned back to Strikestar. "But he's right about one thing: I'm not going to put my pelt on the line for no good reason! Rubblepaw and I didn't see any sign of the Alliance while we were out hunting, so they're probably nowhere in the vicinity."

Strikestar reluctantly agreed. With him hiding in the warriors' den were Emberfur, Bearpelt, Darkstep, and Squirreltail. Frostglaze was crouching in a little alcove that had been scooped out of a snowbank trying to treat Specklestone's wounds-she had taken the most damage out of any cat while protecting her mate- as well as preventing Fishpaw from doing anything rash.

"Maybe Frostglaze could be the cat who heals and talks to spirits for our Clan," Rubblepaw suggested casually upon Strikestar telling him this. "He sure is good with herbs and stuff, and he's very patient and friendly. The only problem is that he has kits, but since he doesn't have a mate anymore, maybe it would be okay to ignore that rule?"

Strikestar looked at him like he didn't know what he was talking about.

"Other Clans have special cats who heal them all the time instead of fighting," Rubblepaw explained. "I learned it from a loner who said he was descended from a Clan cat!"

"We don't have any spirits to talk to, do we?" Emberfur asked curiously.

"I don't see why we would," Bearpelt muttered. "Spirits are the stuff of legends and myths. No cat can really talk to the dead. That's like saying cats really have nine lives."

"Oh, and that's another thing," Rubblepaw went on, determined to educate these cats as much as possible. "Clan leaders are supposed to get nine lives form the spirit cats! That way, when they die, they keep coming back to life! Do you have that, Strikestar?"

"Of course he doesn't," Bearpelt scoffed. "No cat does."

"Having so many lives would be nice, though," Darkstep chimed in. "I wouldn't always have to fear for my survival, because I'd know I could just come back to life. The same goes for my reckless apprentice."

"Hey, that's our son you're talking about," Bearpelt reminded her angrily.

"She's got a point, though," Emberfur reasoned. "He's always getting himself into trouble. It's gotten even worse since Mothpaw ran away. I just wish… I just wish bad things didn't have to happen so often."

Rubblepaw hadn't expected things to take such a personal turn. He wondered if it would be better for him to leave.

"I'm going to step out and try to patch things up," he murmured to Honeypool. "The sooner we clean this mess up, the better. It'll show we can make a quick recovery from anything they do to us."

"I'll help," she offered. "I want to check on Specklestone first, though."

"Can I go with you?"

"Well…" She hesitated. "Yeah, I guess you can."

In the little alcove in the snowbank, Frostglaze was applying some sort of plant-based paste to Specklestone's leg while his kits watched with rapt attention. Fishpaw was sitting in the corner, sulking.

"I could kill them all!" he was claiming. "Those Alliance cats wouldn't know what hit 'em! Just let me go out there and I'll show you!"

"I don't think so, Fishpaw," Frostglaze said, not even bothering to look up from his patient. "If you really want to help, stay right here and fetch me some more clean snow."

Fishpaw reluctantly complied.

"Is she alright?" Honeypool asked from outside the alcove.

"She will be if you leave me to my work," Frostglaze told her curtly. "I'm sorry, Honeypool, but I don't want you hanging around here if you're not going to help out."

Rubblepaw could see that his friend was disappointed that she couldn't visit her mother, but it made sense that Frostglaze wouldn't want to be disturbed. Maybe he really would make a good healer-cat- whatever the proper term for one of those had been.

Clearing all the sticks and trash out of the camp wasn't particularly hard, but it felt like Rubblepaw really had to be careful the whole time, since the Alliance could strike again at any moment. Although their recent scent still lingered, there was no sign that they were still nearby, but Rubblepaw couldn't help feeling paranoid. He and Honeypool hadn't seen them leaving, even though their hunting trip had taken them in the same direction that the old twolegs shack that the Alliance apparently called home was located in…

Maybe it would have been better if he'd been there to see the fight himself. He didn't doubt the word of his Clanmates, of course, but not having seen something himself always made it seem like no cat could ever really prove it was real, despite the injuries that suggested it was.

At one point, Frostglaze left his little working area and padded over to the warriors' den, where the rest of the Clan was still in a heated discussion about what to do next. Rubblepaw couldn't hear all of what the white tom said, nor could he make out the entirety of Strikestar's response, but it was clear that Frostglaze thought that Strikestar need medical attention, and Strikestar thought he did not.

While in the process of dragging a branch that had been ripped off a sapling over to the edge of the clearing, which was drawing a line in the snow behind it, Rubblepaw heard twigs snapping above him. He glanced up, alarmed. To his relief, there wasn't a cat in the tree, glaring down with gleaming eyes and glinting fangs. But just the knowledge that there easily could have been was enough to leave Rubblepaw feeling shaken. RogueClan life would constantly feel a lot more dangerous from now on, it seemed.

He got this sensation again when he was moving a boulder, and he heard the snow crunch behind him. Even after he turned around and saw that it was only Honeypool offering to help, his heart was pounding inside his chest and echoing off the inside of his skull. Rubblepaw had to shake off this feeling off paranoia, but he just couldn't. He knew that something bad would happen again very soon, and next time there would be even more serious consequences.

By the time the RogueClan camp was all tidied up and back to normal, Rubblepaw was exhausted and the sun was low in the sky. He went back for the fresh-kill that he and Honeypool had caught earlier, digging it up from the snow and bringing it over to the fresh-kill pile. Rubblepaw would have expected the Alliance to have strewn bits of fresh-kill all over the camp as well, seeing as to what they did with the rocks and branches, but apparently they hadn't laid a paw on it. Maybe they just hadn't spotted it over in the corner, next to Rubblepaw's nest-ladder-tree, which was one of the only trees within a tail-length of the camp without claw marks running down it.

Even his ladder was intact, and his nest, although Rubblepaw still hadn't gotten around to fully fixing it from the damage caused by the wind storm the night before he'd met Honeypool, hadn't been damaged any further by the Alliance.

"I wonder why they didn't harm my tree," Rubblepaw mused as the cats settled down to eat dinner and share tongues.

"It's because you're their heir," Strikestar said matter-of-factly. "Since I'm older, I'd normally be their heir, but they don't know I'm still alive. They know you're still alive, though, so they're going to try to get you to join them so they can have their King."

"They didn't know you were still alive until today," Rubblepaw corrected him. "Because they saw you when they attacked the camp, right?"

Strikestar didn't respond.

"He hid away in his den while we all fought for him!" Fishpaw announced loudly. "The scratch he got on his side- he got that form slipping and falling onto the sharp twoleg garbage while he was running away!"

"That's not true," Darkstep said sharply. "Strikestar stood his ground and did his best to fend off the first wave of cats. He only ran when back to his den once the second wave came."

"Wait…" Rubblepaw's brow furrowed in confusion. "You guys didn't tell me there were multiple waves! And if Strikestar did fight, then some of the cats must have seen him! So how come he still thinks the Alliance doesn't know he's alive?"

"RogueClan is a small Clan; you already know and understand that," Strikestar explained, and Rubblepaw suddenly noticed just how tired and worn-down he looked. "But what none of us knew until today was just how big the Alliance is. When I was there as a kit, it was a lot smaller. But even back then, a system was in place that they probably still use today: a rank system. Lower ranking cats are the ones who made up the first wave, and none of them report back to Mist, and Mist doesn't tell them anything. Sure, she addresses them in extravagant meetings and gives over-the-top speeches, but those cats don't really know anything about what's going on. They probably don't know who I am, and if they do, Mist probably won't end up finding out they saw me."

Rubblepaw was always impressed by how much his brother knew about the Alliance. He'd been even younger than Rubblepaw was now when he'd left, so it was amazing how clear his memory of being a part of the Alliance was.

And the fact that there'd been so many cats… it was a wonder how RogueClan had survived; they'd been so outnumbered. Even if the "waves" had only comprised of two or three cats each, it would still mean a heated battle, and b the sound of things the Alliance would still have had many more cats to spare.

"How did you ever manage to fend off so many attackers without even a single cat dying?" Honeypool asked, echoing what Rubblepaw had just been thinking. "I mean, Specklestone's leg is in pretty bad shape, and Strikestar has a nasty gash on his side there, but everyone's still alive. How did you manage to drive them away so fast, for that matter?! Rubblepaw and I were only gone for a half hour or so!"

The other cats exchanged a few guilty looks.

"We didn't defeat them," Emberfur admitted after a moment of hesitation. "We drove off the first wave, but then the second wave came… I kept fighting; so did Squirreltail, and Specklestone, even though she had to stop fighting after he leg was mangled. Frostglaze wanted to keep fighting, and so did Darkstep, he had to protect his kits and she had to prevent Fishpaw from being too reckless. Bearpelt persuaded me to hide with him and Strikestar, and before I knew it, we were all just running and hiding for cover. By the time the third wave came in, they couldn't find us, so they just trashed the place until they got bored and left."

The deeper meaning to what Emberfur had just said hit Rubblepaw like a falling boulder.

"So then, if the Alliance attacks again, and we can't run or hide this time…"

"We'll make sure they won't," Strikestar stated firmly. "Because if they do, we're finished."


	11. Chapter 11

_It was dark and grimy and dingy in every sense of the word. Another defining characteristic of the space was that it was cramped. The reek of cats and rotting meat hung in the air, and the bricks that made up Rubblepaw's cage were crumbling. No cat should want to live here, and yet here they were, more than thirty of them now in a decrepit old twoleg building that was only ten square fox-lengths at best._

 _A cat approached Rubblepaw and raised her paw over his head. There was a flash of silver claws, and then blood began to drip down, covering Rubblepaw's eyes. The cat laughed._

 _"Wear your crown proudly, my king…" she whispered as she vanished into the ground, which was crumbling away under his paws, leaving only him sitting alone and frightened on a throne of dirt and blood._

Rubblepaw jolted awake, his heart pounding. He was no stranger to nightmares, but when he dreamed about being chased by twolegs, or being hit by a monster, or a giant mouse tracking him down for revenge, he knew as soon as he woke up that it was just a silly dream. This time the fear persisted even when he was awake.

Whimpering, he squeezed his eye shut and tried to get back to sleep; it was still dark out, and tomorrow would be a busy day. Strikestar had decided to increase camp security and to train all of RogueClan to be better fighters in case the Alliance struck again. There would be no time to lounge around, so he needed to get in as much sleep as he could before the sun rose so he'd be refreshed.

But Rubblepaw couldn't fall back asleep. Images of the Alliance danced in his mind, and the rancid scents of filth and decay still seemed to linger in the air, although he knew he had only imagined them.

It was pointless to try to get back to sleep. He got up and climbed slowly down his ladder, padding over to the warriors' den with still shaking paws. He gently bumped his nose up against Honeypool to check if she was asleep. To his surprise, she let out a startled murmur, her ear twitching.

She rolled over, her eyes tired but lacking the glaze that suggested she'd just been sleeping.

"Rubblepaw, what are you doing?" she whispered. "You shouldn't be in here. What are you doing up, anyway?"

"I had a bad dream," he mewed. "I couldn't fall back asleep afterwards."

"I know that feeling," she sighed. "I couldn't get to sleep at all tonight. Just knowing that the Alliance is out there somewhere, plotting to attack, so much stronger than us… I shiver just thinking about it."

Rubblepaw was glad some cat understood. He lay down next to Honeypool, enjoying the warmth her body gave off. Honeypool didn't object. She simply sighed again and closed her eyes, wrapping her front paws around him protectively. Before long, her breathing grew slow and steady, and Rubblepaw could feel her whiskers twitching, brushing up against the back of his head. She must have fallen asleep.

Yawning, Rubblepaw let himself fall back asleep, confident that he'd be safe from nightmares in Honeypool's presence.

By the time Rubblepaw was woken up by a sharp prod to the ribs, the sun was shining in shafts through the pine branches that hung over Rubblepaw's head. He blinked open his eye groggily to see Squirreltail, of all cats, staring down at him with annoyance. The ginger tom's fluffy tail was twitching, something that looked rather odd as it was so furry it looked almost like the tail of a dog, which Rubblepaw had learned moved their tails when they were happy.

"I'm sorry," Rubblepaw muttered sleepily. "I was just sleeping…"

"I can see that," Squirreltail said sharply. "And I can see that you were enjoying the company of my daughter, too."

"What? Um, no, sir, it was nothing like that," Rubblepaw said quickly upon realizing what the dark ginger warrior was implying. "I mean, yes, I was enjoying her company, but not in that sense! Just ask Honeypool; she'll tell you."

Squirreltail's angry look gave way to amusement as he watched Rubblepaw babbling. Rubblepaw was confused as to why for a moment before it became clear to him.

"You were just toying with me, weren't you?"

"Of course I was," he purred. "You don't really think I'd jump to such a conclusion, would you? I haven't got bees in my brain, after all. Honeypool has told me many times how much she values her friendship with you. I think she feels like an older sister to you- or maybe a maternal figure."

That was probably true, but Rubblepaw would be lying if he said he didn't sometimes think about being in a relationship with Honeypool. She was a bit older than him, but she hadn't shown any interest in any other toms in the Clan, so maybe he stood a chance with her? Even if it never came to that, though, he would still always be happy to know such a delightful and charming she-cat.

"By the way, have you checked in on how Specklestone is doing?" Rubblepaw asked. "Honeypool said that Frostglaze says she's going to able to use her leg again normally, but only if she doesn't fight or move around too much for a few weeks."

"Well, if you already know that, then I can't tell you much more," Squirreltail said. "But yes, that information is correct; she's going to have to stay off that leg for a while, and she won't be able to fight if the Alliance attacks again, which she isn't very happy about."

"It's glad to see my two favourite toms are getting along!" Honeypool, who was sitting beside the no-longer-a-tunnel apparently waiting for them, purred teasingly. "I'm glad Strikestar put us in a group together."

"Oh, we're in a group together? That's great!" Rubblepaw was always happy to get to work with Honeypool. "Wait, what do you mean by 'in a group'?"

"Strikestar's divided us up into groups," she explained. "There are three different stations, and each group will rotate so every cat can participate in each station."

Rubblepaw nodded, thankful for the clarification.

The first station was a stealth mission. One cat had to hide while the other two tracked them down. Squirreltail volunteered to hide, even though Rubblepaw was pretty confident in his own hiding skills.

"I think I know where he's going to hide," Honeypool whispered as soon as the one-minute count the hider got was up. "Do you remember that beaver dam in the marshy area? He's mentioned jokingly to me once that it'd make a good hiding place."

"Maybe we should split up to make finding him easier," Rubblepaw suggested. "You can look there, and I'll look somewhere else."

Honeypool nodded, and they split up, with Rubblepaw heading in the direction of a ditch he knew about that had long grass and deep snow inside. He wasn't allowed to use his sense of smell for this activity, so he had to rely on sight, hearing, and a wild guess. The ice that covered the forest here and there would have been ideal to walk on to avoid leaving pawprints in the snow, so he couldn't rely on that either. In fact, he wondered why exactly Strikestar had thought that this made any sense at all as a training activity. It might make sense as a training activity for twolegs, who were infamous for not having a good sense of smell, but this didn't seem like a good way to prepare a cat for battle.

Sure enough, once the grassy ditch came into view Rubblepaw could see a pair of ginger ears poking up from inside. He sighed; this had been too easy, even with Strikestar's strange rules. Maybe the next station would be a fighting exercise.

It was not a fighting exercise. This time the challenge was to jump from tree to tree all around the ring of tres that circled the RogueClan camp. Since Mothpaw had been hiding in a tree when he'd ambushed Rubblepaw, tree climbing did seem like it might be a necessary skill to fight the Alliance, but Mothpaw had formerly been a Clan cat, so Rubblepaw wasn't sure if other Alliance cats shared his strategies. Still, climbing trees was one of Rubblepaw's strengths, so he had a bit of fun on this station.

The same couldn't be said for his teammates. At one point, Honeypool had almost fallen so many times that she gave up entirely and just walked on the ground in a circle around the edge of the camp a few times. Squirreltail took over a minute just figuring out how to pull off the jump without putting so much weight on the branches that they'd break off. His lack of skill in this area was ironic considering his name, but Rubblepaw didn't bring that up, doubting that the ginger tom would appreciate the joke.

Finally, they moved on to the third and final station. Thankfully, this station was a fighting exercise. Two of the three cats would fight, and the winner of that match would fight the remaining cat. The same rules would be used as the ones for apprentice battle practice: no claws, and whichever cat stays on their paws the longest wins. Some of Strikestar's decisions didn't make a lot of sense, but at least this made sense as a method of training up cats for a potential attack.

"Squirreltail and I will battle first," Honeypool said to Rubblepaw. "Make sure to cheer me on, okay?"

Rubblepaw nodded. He sat down to watch his teammates have their match, and was instantly impressed by not only Honeypool's fighting skills, but also her father's. He'd never seen Squirreltail fight before, but he was clearly a natural. He suspected that he was going easy on his daughter, though, since she won fairly easily and rather quickly.

"Okay, Rubblepaw, now it's time for us to go up against each other," Honeypool said, an almost playful gleam in her eyes. "Let's see if your training has been paying off…"

She didn't make any move to strike- she was waiting for Rubblepaw to go first. He did, jumping in to swipe at her and then backing up quickly. It was a tactic that Honeypool herself had taught him, so it wasn't surprising when she countered the strategy by sticking out her front paw while he jumped forward to strike, tripping him up for just long enough to pin him down. Rubblepaw rolled over and pressed on the top of her leg to make her lose her balance. Honeypool fell over, and Rubblepaw scrambled on top of her, pinning down all four of her paws by standing on top of them. She craned her neck forward, trying to nip at him, but she couldn't quite reach.

If it had been a real battle, she probably would have been able to get her opponent off of her, but she wasn't making any real effort to. Rubblepaw was flattered that she was letting him win, but it didn't seem right.

"Strikestar wants us to do this so we can get stronger, in case the Alliance comes back," he reminded her. "We have to give it our all; otherwise our fighting skills won't improve."

Honeypool nodded, but she looked reluctant. She squirmed around and managed to throw Rubblepaw off of her. Rubblepaw wasted no time in getting back on his feet and giving her a swipe across the nose that would have given her a nasty scratch had they been using claws. She retaliated with a pounce, sending them both rolling across the snow. Somehow Rubblepaw managed to end up on top again, but only for an instant, as she pulled him in close for a headbutt to under the chin, which was enough to stun Rubblepaw for the few seconds it took for Honeypool to pin him down and immobilize him. He struggled fiercely beneath her, but she reached down and pressed her muzzle against his neck. If it had been a real battle, she definitely would have just won.

"That was fun," he panted afterwards as they headed back to camp. "I'm going to have to try out that headbutt move sometime."

"I'm glad you think so, Rubblepaw," she said, looking somewhat troubled. "It's just that… well, I don't really like the idea of fighting for real. I know I'll probably have to do it soon, and I will do it for the Clan, and for Strikestar, but I really wish I didn't have to."

Rubblepaw could understand how she was feeling. He didn't like the idea of hurting other cats either. He especially didn't like the idea that he might have to fight his parents someday. Even if they were the rulers of the Alliance, they were still kin, and he hoped he would never have to face them in battle.

He realized that Fishpaw must feel the same way about Mothpaw. The young silver tom had seemed all too eager to fight the Alliance, but if he ever came face-to-face with his brother, would he really be willing to fight him without holding back? Sometimes it was hard to tell just what Fishpaw would do.

"Good, you're back," Strikestar said urgently as soon as the team trudged into the camp. "Darkstep's team picked up the scent of the Alliance near the twoleg walking trail. They didn't see any cats, but the scent was fresh, and she thinks they're planning to attack again. They've got an army of cats to spare, after all."

Honeypool and Squirreltail exchanged a nervous glance. Rubblepaw's nightmare resurfaced in his mind. These cats were only after RogueClan because of him. Maybe if he just did what they wanted… no. It wouldn't be right. Strikestar would be so disappointed in him.

Besides, he would rather die than live as the king of such a place. The Alliance held no appeal for him- if only it weren't for Mist, he really would be able to see it as a thing to despise.


	12. Chapter 12

"We don't know for a fact that the Alliance is going to attack again, but it would be best if we didn't take chances." Strikestar spoke briskly from the tree stump where he stood to address the Clan. "Even if they're only surveying our territory for now, we have to show them we can and we will stand up to them."

The leader was met with nods of agreement and approval. Fishpaw let out a loud and enthusiastic battle cry, although he was the only cat who did.

"But Strikestar, we don't have nearly as many cats as they do to begin with!" Bearpelt objected. "Since when can we afford to make such a risky move?"

"And besides, even if we did have the cats to spare, it still wouldn't be right to put their lives at risk unnecessarily," Emberfur added.

"This is putting no cat's life at risk," Strikestar assured them. "I simply want a small patrol- no more than three cats- to go back to the place where Darkstep's training exercise group scented the Alliance cats so we can find out if they're still there."

"And what are we supposed to do if they are still there?! You've made a point of saying yourself that we can't win against them," Squirreltail reminded him, casting a worried glance at Specklestone, who had been allowed to leave Frostglaze's makeshift medicine den but still had to keep off her injured leg. "If they're still there and we fight them, we'll be risking our pelts. If they're no longer there, nothing is gained or lost!"

"He's got a point, you know," Honeypool said quietly to Strikestar. She was sitting at the base of the stump he spoke from, suggesting that she was a sort of unofficial deputy. "They've all got good points. Strikestar, this is a pointless endeavor. Whether or not they're still here, they were here; sending cats up to check will do nothing to change that. Plus, if they're planning to attack again, wouldn't it be best for all our cats to be in good shape?"

Strikestar hesitated. He seemed to be considering whether or not to admit his plan was flawed. For a second Rubblepaw expected the next words out of his mouth to be along the lines of "never mind; you're right; we shouldn't do this". Instead, they were the opposite.

"I don't care if you're too cowardly to defend your Clan," he snarled, his intense green eye flashing threateningly. "Darkstep; Fishpaw- you two haven't complained at all yet. I'll send you. Same for you, Rubblepaw," he added after a moment of hesitation. "Just make sure to stay safe."

"I will," Rubblepaw promised, although he really did agree with his Clanmates- he just hadn't had the nerve to challenge his intimidating older brother. "We'll all stay safe."

They headed out to the spot where the Alliance cats had been a few hours earlier, with Darkstep guiding Rubblepaw there, and Fishpaw not saying a word but looking a bit too ready for a battle which Rubblepaw hoped wouldn't happen. When they got there, the scent was definitely still fresh, but it was hard to say whether the cats were still there, or if they'd just left. The twolegs walking trail was thankfully deserted, so that was one potential crisis already averted.

"Could you pinpoint an exact location for where they were?" Rubblepaw whispered.

"I thought they might be up a tree, but I was just guessing," Darkstep replied. "Wait! Shh, I think I hear something…"

Rubblepaw stopped and listened, his ears pricked up. Sure enough, there seemed to be muffled meows coming from… beneath him?! Rubblepaw looked down at the snow under him and shifted his paws around. Nothing happened, of course- maybe the sounds he'd heard had been something else. But they certainly hadn't been the soft scuffling sounds of prey beneath the snow, and Rubblepaw couldn't think of anything else they might be besides the voices of other cats.

"Is some cat below us?" Fishpaw asked, sounding just as confused as Rubblepaw was. Then his eyes widened. "Hey, that's a tunnel!"

Without asking for permission to do so, he clambered down into a hole in the snow that Rubblepaw hadn't noticed before. It certainly looked like it could be deep enough to lead somewhere, so Rubblepaw followed Fishpaw in. Darkstep seemed unsure, but she followed him as well, although she told the young toms that she would walk in front.

The snow tunnel was only possible because of how deep the snow was, but even then it was only a snow tunnel for a few tail-lengths before becoming a dirt tunnel. It seemed to lead underneath the twoleg path and then come out at the other end. It was a short tunnel, and when Rubblepaw emerged barely three fox-lengths from where he'd started, he was beyond confused. Why would any cat dig a tunnel like this? If it had been a tunnel beneath a thunderpath, it would be understandable, since monsters roared by often, and they posed quite a threat. But the twoleg walking trail required only a few seconds to cross even at a leisurely pace.

The voices that Rubblepaw had heard had grown louder, and the scent of the Alliance had increased, the deeper they had gone, so it seemed to Rubblepaw that the Alliance cats must be hiding out in the tunnel somewhere. But where could they be?

"Well, does it really matter?" Darkstep asked, clearly reluctant to try to seek out the Alliance. "We know they're still here, and no cat had to engage them in battle. It seems like a win-win to me."

"If the tunnel has branching paths, one of them might come up near the camp," Rubblepaw pointed out. "I'm not saying we should deliberately try to encounter the Alliance, but-"

"Where's Fishpaw?!" Darkstep's eyes grew wide with sudden realization. "He must still be in the tunnel. He must have taken one of the branching paths!"

"We've gotta go get him," Rubblepaw said urgently. "I hope he doesn't stumble across the place where the Alliance is hiding out…"

They headed back into the tunnel, moving more quickly this time. Rubblepaw made sure to stay alert for branching paths, and found one when his whiskers stopped brushing up against the dirt walls on his right side. He turned down that way, following the scent of Fishpaw and listening for the silver apprentice's voice. It was impossible to see anything underground, so Rubblepaw really hoped they wouldn't have to fight any cat.

To his dread, as Fishpaw's scent grew stronger, so did that of the Alliance. It seemed that he'd been so eager to pick a fight that he'd gone out of his way to find them. Fishpaw had a lot of fighting spirit, but he was even younger than Rubblepaw, so he wouldn't stand a chance against multiple adult cats.

Rubblepaw tried to move faster, barely even feeling his paws against the cold, frozen ground. He had no idea how many turns he'd taken now, and he wasn't confident in his abilities to navigate his way back to where he'd started. The only reason he knew Darkstep was still in front of his was because he could feel her tail fur brush up against his face. Normally it would have annoyed him, but in this case he was grateful to have a reassurance that he wasn't alone.

After what felt like hours, the voices that had been growing increasingly louder as Rubblepaw approached them became clear enough to make out what they were saying. Rubblepaw turned a corner toward the faint glow that was coming from up ahead and suddenly he could see again.

They were in a large chamber of some sort. There were boulders here and there which would be perfect to hide behind just before an ambush. Rubblepaw was thankful for the light and heat, but he gasped when he saw its source. There was a fire in the centre of the chamber! And yet, it was contained- a pile of sticks sat in a ditch, surrounded by stones. Several Alliance cats were huddled around the leaping and crackling flames, sharing tongues in both the metaphorical and literal sense. One pair of cats seemed to be intoxicated in some way, draping themselves over each other and gnawing playfully on each others' ears. Fishpaw must have been there as well, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Holding his breath, Rubblepaw crept forward silently, feeling almost as though he was stalking prey. The flames lit up the dirt walls of the chamber, and heated up the snowy roof enough to make it drip down on the cats below. They didn't seem to mind, though. Rubblepaw supposed that they must be used to conditions that were a lot worse than this.

None of the cats seemed to notice them there. They were all too busy socializing. It would have been easy to sneak up on these cats and attack them, but there were at least ten of them there, so it wouldn't have been a good idea to do so. Surely even Fishpaw could have figured that out. Maybe he had figured it out, and then decided to get out while he had the chance. Rubblepaw hoped that was the case.

Of course that wasn't the case, though. It could never be that simple, could it? Rubblepaw's tail drooped when he spotted a silver tail poking out from behind one of the boulders that dotted the chamber. It was twitching, and just as Rubblepaw was about to call out to him, Fishpaw leaped out from hiding and pounced on the cat farthest away from the fire- a dark gray tabby tom whose tabby stripes were almost black. The gray tom let out a yowl, and suddenly every cat was alert and ready to fight.

Fighting would hardly have been necessary to take out Fishpaw. The young cat clawed the dark gray tabby's face, but he was already pinned down by then. Rubblepaw ran forward, hissing and knocking into the larger cat. The two apprentices ganged up on him, driving him back to the best of their abilities until Darkstep caught up to them and scared him away.

"What are you punks doing in our hideout?" a pale brown she-cat snarled. "I'm gonna give you to the count of three to get out before we rip you all apart! One…"

"We'd better go," Rubblepaw said quickly, turning around and heading back the way they'd came. "C'mon, Fishpaw, you can' take these guys!"

"Two…"

Fishpaw didn't listen, baring his teeth at the brown she-cat.

"Fishpaw, I am ordering you as your mentor to come with us now!" Darkstep snapped. When he still didn't listen, she marched up to him and grabbed him by his scruff like a kit.

"…Three! Okay, everybody, it's time for the Alliance to teach these RogueClan losers a lesson!"

Rubblepaw was already running at top speed by the time she was finished talking. He knew that every cat that he'd seen huddled around the fire was now pursuing them. That would mean about ten angry, adult Alliance cats out for blood. He willed his paws to move faster.

Darkstep pushed past him, Fishpaw no longer in her mouth but no longer showing any intent of fighting the Alliance. Now that he was seeing the results of his actions, he was trying to get away just as desperately as his mentor and Rubblepaw were.

"Are we going the right way?" Rubblepaw panted as the turned a sharp corner. "I mean, what if we get lost, and can't find our way out?"

"Survival is the priority," was all Darkstep said.

The Alliance cats were catching up. Darkstep was full grown and had longer legs, so she could run faster than Fishpaw and Rubblepaw. As their pursuers grew closer, she pulled ahead of the younger cats, leaving them to try and fail to keep up. They simply were physically unable to continue to outrun the Alliance cats. Since there were so many cats chasing them, splitting up would be useless, although the thought did cross Rubblepaw's mind. He hated Fishpaw, but sticking together seemed only natural in a situation like this.

That was why Rubblepaw couldn't believe it when he felt his paws being knocked out from under him. He skidded on the ground, the realization that Fishpaw had just tripped him up weighing him down so much that it took him a few seconds too many to get back up and keep running. The Alliance cats were right behind him now. In an instant they would catch up to him, and then…

There was a faint light coming from up ahead. It was the exit- or at least, an exit. But it was just a little too far away. Rubblepaw braced himself for what was about to happen a moment before it did. The fangs and claws dug into him in such a way that it felt like a dream. Rubblepaw could barely hear his own voice calling for help. Fishpaw wouldn't care if he died. Darkstep would care, but she was too far away to help by now, as were the rest of his Clanmates. Strikestar and Honeypool and everyone else… they had no idea this was happening. They wouldn't find out until it was too late.

"Stop!" The voice rang out, muffled by the tunnel walls, but still clearly as it had the first time Rubblepaw had heard it. "This cat is not to be killed!"

There were no objections- not even a hesitation, or a disgruntled mumble. All the weight that had been pressing down on Rubblepaw was gone, as were all the claws and fangs that had been tearing into him. Gasping, Rubblepaw struggled to sit up, his entire body screaming out in pain as soon as he tried to move. All he could manage to do was lift his head just enough to see his rescuer.

"Rubble, how could they do this to you?" Mist's eyes were filled with what appeared to be very real love and concern as she knelt down to lick Rubblepaw's forehead. "Don't they know better than to hurt their own prince?"

"I'm not prince of the Alliance," was all Rubblepaw could say.

"Oh, but you are, my dear," his mother purred, wrapping her tail around him comfortingly. "But you are…"


	13. Chapter 13

The pale light that shone from only a few tail-lengths away wasn't bright, but it was just enough to illuminate Mist as she stood in front of Rubblepaw. But the light was blocked by her frame when she lay down and started licking him vigorously. Rubblepaw normally would have objected to this, since she was queen of the Alliance, but he hurt too badly to complain about some much-wanted love and attention, even if that love was conditional, or the attention was only an attempt to win him over into joining her.

"Queen Mist, why do you care about this cat?" one of the Alliance cats who'd chased him asked. "He's RogueClan filth! What do you want with this trash? Why not kill him?!"

His comrades hissed for him to be silent, but he kept talking.

"This cat is already half-dead," the Alliance cat continued, beginning to sound less curious and more… almost angry? "We were just about to finish the job when you showed up! With all due respect, queen Mist, you should've let us kill the little punk!"

"Silence!" Mist snapped, standing up. "Lizard, you claim to address me 'with all due respect', and yet you dare to insinuate that your own future king deserves to die? Shame on you- you're no true Alliance cat!"

Rubblepaw craned his neck, wincing at the pain that came when he moved, in order to see what his mother would do next- now that she'd gotten up and was now moving slowly toward the cat who's spoken up against her, she was no longer blocking the light, so Rubblepaw could get a decent view of what was happening around him.

"Qu-queen Mist, I was just joking around," the cat called Lizard, who was a dark brown tom with gray flecks dotting his pelt, said nervously, backing up. "I didn't know he was your son, honest! I mean, I knew you had a son named Rubble, but Jackie told me he was dead. Vanilla said so too! Why not blame one of them instead?"

"I don't care what those mouse-brained gossips told you, Lizard- but I definitely don't blame them for telling you that, either. We all thought that my poor dear Rubble was lost to us forever after his horrible brother stole him from me!" Mist sat down again, the anger in her voice towards Lizard dwindling away, replaced by sadness and regret for a moment, and then the anger came back, but aimed at a different cat. "I wish that awful Striker had never been born! He would have been a king had he only had the decency to stay and rule. And you, Rubble…"

Hearing his mother address him directly by what must have been his name as a kit made Rubblepaw uncomfortable, and the fact that so many of her underlings were listening didn't help.

"You would have made the greatest of kings," she purred softly. "Had your terrible brother simply run away to die, you would have been the heir, and everything would have been perfect! But that maggot- that fox-heart- he had to go ahead and take you from me while he was at it! I wept for you every night, my darling; for I did not know that you had lived. How could you have lived? And yet, there you stood, with the same horrid look in your eyes and that same dreadful tone in your voice that my Striker had before he left."

Mist's words dug into Rubblepaw like sharp stones. She really loved him- or did she? He knew she must not care about him. She was the ruler of the Alliance, and the Alliance was evil. That meant Mist was evil too. Sure, she could have some good in her, but if that was the case why would she be in charge of something so bad?

 _She's only concerned about having an heir_ , Rubblepaw thought. _Yes, that's gotta be it. Why would she love me, even if I'm her son? Why would an evil cat love any cat?_

It hurt too much to do anything, even think such complicated and important thoughts. Rubblepaw collapsed into unconsciousness, feeling good despite his current situation.

When he woke up, his mind still felt asleep. He couldn't quite remember what had just happened to him. He could barely even open his eye. When he did, all it saw was the sky.

As he slowly became more aware of his surroundings, the sensation that he was still in a dream grew stronger, although by that point he was sure he was awake. This was the exact same place he'd dreamed of being in! It was different in some ways, though. There were cats both outside and in the long-abandoned twoleg building, and there seemed to be lots of tunnels like the one he'd just been in…

That's right! Rubblepaw remembered now; he'd been with Darkstep and Fishpaw… but they'd left him behind… and then Mist had…

"Are you feeling better now, my prince?"

Mist was standing over him now, her eyes filled with compassion and concern. Water dripped from the bundle of wet leaves in her mouth and fell onto Rubblepaw's head. Rubblepaw guessed it was meant to cool him down- was he feverish? He did feel a bit warm…

"I wanna go home," he moaned, the pain just as sharp as before.

"You are home," Mist said, her voice gentle but with an underlying firmness to it that sent a chill down Rubblepaw's spine. "You belong here with me. In fact, this is the best thing that's happened to me in seasons!"

"Please, Mist," he mewed, "I want to go back to RogueClan. They're my friends."

"Friends come and go, but kin is forever," Mist trilled, licking Rubblepaw's ear- the one with the V-mark. "You are my son, and one day you will be king."

"I have kin in RogueClan."

He hadn't meant to say it; it had just come out. And now Mist was eyeing him suspiciously. Rubblepaw knew he couldn't let her know about Strikestar.

"How could you have kin there?" she asked, her sharp green eyes narrowing. "I was never part of that pathetic little group, and neither was Arrow."

"I didn't mean any cat there is related to me by blood," Rubblepaw lied, thinking fast. "But every cat there is my kin, because the bonds forged in a Clan are, um, stronger than blood ties, so… I'm more closely related to my Clanmates than I am to you…"

"That's one explanation," Mist agreed. "But I think you meant something slightly different. Now look me right in the eyes, Rubble, and tell me one thing: is your brother alive?"

Rubblepaw gulped.

"I never even knew I had a brother." It was technically true; he hadn't known Strikestar had been kin until a few weeks ago. "I certainly don't think he's part of RogueClan."

Mist didn't look convinced, but just then two cats came running up dragging an injured third cat behind them, distracting her from the issue of Rubblepaw and Strikestar.

"What happened here?!" she demanded.

"Dusty got hit by a monster!" a dappled she-cat exclaimed. "He survived, but he got hurt really badly! Can you save him?"

Mist sniffed at Dusty's light brown pelt. Rubblepaw tried not to look at the wounded cat; seeing gore always unnerved him.

"If he survived being hit, he'll be fine," Mist decided after only about five seconds or so of assessing his injuries. "Now take him away; I'm talking to your future king!"

"It's okay; I can wait," Rubblepaw offered politely. "You should make tending to your Clanmates- well, your Alliance-mates, I guess… a priority."

"I don't know how to heal a cat," Mist snapped. "There are too many useless cats here to begin with; if one or two die it's less mouths to feed."

Rubblepaw could hardly believe the way Mist was talking. It seemed that the dappled she-cat and her companion, a pale ginger tom, couldn't believe it either, even though they were clearly members of the Alliance themselves.

Suddenly Rubblepaw got an idea. It was insane, but in an odd way, it made sense. He doubted these cats would be on board, but it was worth a shot…

With a yowl, he sprung to his paws, catching Mist off-guard with a swipe to the cheek. Before she could react, he ducked under and gave her a headbutt to the chin, like Honeypool had done during the training exercise. While Mist was getting back on her paws, he began to run, motioning for the other cats to follow him.

To his surprise, after an exchanged glance, they did. The tom helped the she-cat lift Dusty up onto her back and they followed Rubblepaw, who was just hoping no cat would object to bringing Alliance members home with him.

No other cat seemed to notice him, oddly enough. They were all too busy sharing tongues or eating or sleeping or… staring blankly ahead? Life in the Alliance must have been strange.

"There's a cat I know who kind of knows how to heal," Rubblepaw informed the Alliance cats as they ran. "He's not an official healer or anything, but he seems to know what he's doing."

"It's worth a shot," the tom said hopefully.

There was a monster coming on the thunderpath, so Rubblepaw headed into one of the tunnels instead. He came back up the other side and slowed his pace down a bit, hoping they'd be out of danger now.

He was close to the camp now. By the time the tunnel into camp came into view, he was beyond exhausted from the day's events, but he was immeasurably happy to be back where he belonged.

"I'm back!" he exclaimed as he ran into camp with Alliance cats in tow.

"…So you are." Strikestar stared in shock at Rubblepaw from the stump he perched on. The rest of the Clan turned their heads to stare as well from where they sat to hear the leader's words; they'd been in the middle of a Clan meeting.

"Rubblepaw, you're okay!" Honeypool bounded over to him happily and bumped her muzzle up against his, only to break away awkwardly. "…Um, I'm glad to see you're alright."

"I wouldn't go that far," he groaned. "Those Alliance cats really roughed me up back in that tunnel."

"Who are those cats?!" Strikestar demanded, hopping down from his stump and padding over. He sniffed at them and gasped. "They're form the Alliance! Why did you bring them here?!"

"One of them is badly injured," he explained. "They need our help."

"I can take a look at the injured one," Frostglaze offered. "Take him to my work area and I'll see what I can do."

"He can heal that one, but after that these cats must leave," Strikestar said firmly. "The Alliance is the enemy, Rubblepaw. You can never forget that."

"I didn't forget it," he said.

But in the moment that Mist had been licking his fur and whispering kind things to him, he had come very close to forgetting.


	14. Chapter 14

"This is my tree. I built this out of sticks to help me climb up it in the winter. I modeled the design off a twoleg ladder," Rubblepaw mewed happily. "I like to sleep in that empty bird's nest up there. A storm damaged it a while back, and I keep meaning to rebuild it, but I never got around to it."

He was giving the two Alliance cats he'd met the previous day a tour around the camp. The light ginger tom was called Rustle, and the dappled she-cat was called Brownie. They were mates who had been pressured into joining the Alliance with promises of being provided with shelter and food for themselves and the kits they'd been planning to have soon. Dusty was a friend of theirs who seemed like one of the only high-ranking cats who really cared about them at all. Rubblepaw had been fascinated by their life stories, but Strikestar was suspicious of them and wanted them to leave as soon as possible.

Rubblepaw hoped he'd be able to convince his brother to let these poor cats stay. RogueClan needed more members if they hoped to stand a chance against the Alliance, or other potential future threats, and these cats would be perfect. They were used to being treated poorly, so they didn't ask for much, they were grateful for what they got, and they promised to give as much as they could in return. Plus, Rustle and Brownie would obviously know a few things about the Alliance which could come in handy later on down the line.

"Did you really live here on your own for seven whole moons?" Brownie asked incredulously. She turned to her mate. "…Maybe we should have done that instead of joining _them_."

"Yeah, if only we'd just stuck with it a little longer instead of giving up when we did," Rustle sighed. "Living off the land is hard, though. How'd you manage it, Rubble… er,' paw?' Why do you wild cats give each other such odd names, anyway?"

"It's Clan tradition, I guess," Rubblepaw said. "I didn't do the whole living-off-the land thing totally by myself, though. For the first little while I had an old cat named Boss to help me."

"I knew a Boss once," Brownie said. "They were pretty old, with gray fur that was pretty messy."

"What colour were his eyes?"

"His? Oh, no, the Boss I knew was a she-cat," Brownie explained. "She was the mother of an old lover I had from back in twolegplace."

"Boss isn't an uncommon name for kittypets," Rustle added in. "There's at least one or two of them in the Alliance as well, but one of them changed their name to Prez to keep cats from getting them mixed up."

Rubblepaw nodded thoughtfully. These cats sure did have a lot of interesting things to say.

"Hey, Rubblepaw," Honeypool greeted him, approaching with a tired look about her. "Strikestar told me to take you out for some training."

"Hi, Honeypool- good timing," he chirped. "I was just finishing up my tour of the camp! Rustle and Brownie seem really nice. I hope I can get Strikestar to let them stay."

Honeypool nodded politely to them, but they didn't exchange a verbal greeting. She took Rubblepaw out into the woods, keeping quieter than normal.

"What's up, Honeypool? Why are you being so quiet?" Rubblepaw asked. "Has something got you down?"

"I don't think you should get too attached to those Alliance cats, Rubblepaw," she said. "Strikestar's mind isn't easy to change. He really doesn't want those cats around."

"Strikestar sure is young for a leader." It was very off-topic, but the thought had suddenly occurred to Rubblepaw and he'd thought he should bring it up. "He's barely an adult. Why isn't Frostglaze or Darkstep leader? Or one of your parents?"

"When Acornstar was dying- he was the leader before Strikestar- he made it very clear that Strikestar was to be the next leader," Honeypool explained. "He didn't give any explanation as to why. He certainly wouldn't have known about the Alliance at that time; we lived far away from here then. In fact, he was probably just senile. But we respected the word of our leader, and now Strikestar's in charge. He's a good leader, though, especially seeing how little experience he has. He'd only been part of RogueClan for about a moon when he was given the title, but in the time he's had that title, he's done a much better job than any cat though he would."

This information was entirely new to Rubblepaw. Even though it made no logical sense considering Strikestar's age, he'd always assumed that the leader had joined the Clan as a kit. It seemed odd to think that Strikestar and Rubblepaw had actually both joined RogueClan at around the same age. It was even weirder to think that Strikestar had fled from the Alliance only to join RogueClan, become leader, only to lead his Clan back to the place he'd fled from. Why would he do that? It made no sense!

Another thing that puzzled Rubblepaw was how Strikestar had ended up so much farther away from the Alliance's territory than Rubblepaw had. And if Rubblepaw's name had been Rubble as a kit, why had his name been Rogue before? Had Boss given him the name? Had Boss known about the Alliance? Why was RogueClan nomadic? The more questions Rubblepaw asked, the more he got in return. Answers only led to more confusion.

At least hunting was straightforward.

"Okay, I know you have a lot of fancy tricks you learned from Boss or taught yourself while you were living here alone," Honeypool meowed. "But I really want you to make sure you know some standard Clan-style hunting techniques. For instance, can you locate a small rodent underneath the snow?"

"I can do that," Rubblepaw said confidently.

He sniffed around for prey. Sure enough, there was a small creature scuttling around under the snow. It was a mouse. He pressed his ear to the snow, listening to the muffled sounds of its tiny feet scampering around. The little noises made him smile slightly, zoning out and thinking about running about and playing in the snow.

"Rubblepaw, stay focused," Honeypool reminded him. "Now, do you remember how to catch prey when it's under the snow?"

Rubblepaw was pretty sure he knew. He tried to pinpoint where the mouse would be in a few seconds. Then he got his paws into position there and…

He dug his paws into the snow as the mouse ran into them. He bent down and nipped its neck, glancing up at Honeypool proudly and hoping for praise.

"Good job," she said approvingly. "That must have been easier than that weird stunt you pulled the other day."

Rubblepaw's face grew hot as he remembered his attempt at catching prey under the snow from a few days ago. He had been on a hunting patrol, and had wanted to show off his skills to Fishpaw. So, when Rubblepaw had scented a vole hiding under the snow, he'd sprung into action.

First, he'd dropped into the hunter's crouch. Then he'd crept forward until he was sure he was right on top of where the vole was. Then he'd jumped up into the air and came down in somewhat of a pounce, sending snow flying up all around him. Now he hadn't been able to tell where the vole was, so he'd tried to locate it again; it had been a few tail-lengths in front of him. In an attempt that Rubblepaw now regretted, he had plunged himself into the snow, claws outstretched, and although he had missed the vole, Fishpaw had ended up catching it when it ran out from under the snow and into his paws after being spooked by Rubblepaw.

At least some cat had caught the vole, but why had it had to be Fishpaw? It still annoyed Rubblepaw, although he supposed he was the only one to blame. His unorthodox methods of hunting worked out surprisingly often, but when they failed, it wasn't really a surprise.

"You see, if a tree had been involved I would have gotten it," Rubblepaw joked now about his failure to catch the vole. "When there's a tree involved I can never lose."

"If that's the case, why don't you try to catch those birds up in that tree?" Honeypool purred- she was more or less joking, but it was also a valid suggestion. "See if you can catch them off-guard."

"I'll try that," Rubblepaw agreed.

He knew that climbing the tree the birds were actually in would be too noisy- it was a fir tree, and their branches shook about too much. But there was a thin but sturdy birch growing close to it, so he started climbing that one, planning to hop over to the other once he got close enough to the birds.

Climbing trees was still fun, but ever since he'd been knocked out of one by Mothpaw, it always made Rubblepaw feel just the slightest bit paranoid. Even when it was plain to see that there were no enemies waiting to attack, staring up at the empty branches above was hard to do without those intense amber eyes staring back in the back of his mind.

He wouldn't let that interfere with his hunting, though. Those birds were practically close enough to taste now. Rubblepaw studied the gap between the two trees, silently calculating how he could jump from one to the other and catch a bird before they had the chance to fly away. It looked like it wouldn't work unless he got to a higher vantage point first.

Once he was in a good position to do so, Rubblepaw made the jump, managing to catch one bird in his mouth while the others inevitably scattered and flew off, frightened away. The branch was springy, and Rubblepaw's catch almost fell out of his mouth, but he sunk his fangs into the fresh-kill and his claws into the branch. Once he'd gotten his balance, he jumped down.

"That was a very good catch," Honeypool complimented. "I must admit, I didn't think you'd be able to pull that off as well as you did."

Rubblepaw brimmed with pride. He liked doing a good job, because that meant he would get compliments. Strikestar was a good mentor, but he seemed to prefer to be less friendly with Rubblepaw, despite them being kin. Honeypool was friendly, though. She would tease him when he messed up, but she never gave him any serious discouragement.

"Should we hunt some more, or is that enough?" Rubblepaw asked.

"I think we'd better bury what we've caught so far to preserve it," Honeypool told him. "I didn't want to say this I front of your new friends there, but I don't think Strikestar wants you to talk to those cats. He doesn't trust the Alliance, and for good reason."

"Do you think the one that got hurt is going to survive?"

"I don't know, Rubblepaw. Frostglaze is doing his best, in any case."

"I'm glad Specklestone is doing better now."

"Yeah, me too," Honeypool agreed before adding wistfully, "I'd hate to lose another family member."

Rubblepaw wondered if he shouldn't have brought it up. Then again, Boss had always said that talking about feelings was a natural thing for she-cats to do. Rubblepaw guessed that the same applied to toms, although Boss hadn't seemed to have thought so.

"Can you tell me about Dewpaw?" he asked. "I'd like to hear a bit about what she was like. She must have been pretty cool if she was related to you."

"Well, she was always the rational one…" Honeypool sat down and blinked slowly, as if she was trying to remember things that had happened a long time ago. "She had a sense of adventure, just like me, but the difference between us is that I was the one with a rebellious streak, and she was the one with a romantic side."

"I think you could have a romantic side, too," Rubblepaw offered.

"Dewpaw was that cat who'd get crushes on any cat she laid eyes on," Honeypool purred. "She was madly in love with Strikestar. I didn't see the appeal. She wanted to impress him by being the best warrior of all time. I wanted to impress myself by seeing what I could get away with. My heart belonged to the wild, and I wanted to go back to the river where we lived back before the rock-wall-cave. Dewpaw knew that I was crazy, but she never tried to cover for me. She'd just get dragged into my crazy scheme- either that or put her paw down and prevent me from doing it."

"She sounds fun," Rubblepaw meowed. "I wish I could meet her."

"I wish you could meet her too," Honeypool whispered, slumping down slightly. "I wish I had stayed to fight off the stranger instead of running away…"

There was nothing else that Rubblepaw could say to Honeypool. He simply rested his muzzle on her head gently, hoping to comfort her. Honeypool didn't object. In fact, she buried her face in his chest fur, her shoulders beginning to shake. Rubblepaw was surprised by his friend's crying; she'd always struck him as the type to keep smiling in front of other cats, even if she felt sad. Maybe he'd been wrong about her.

It was horrible of him, he knew, but Rubblepaw was actually sort of glad that Honeypool was unhappy. He didn't usually get this physically close to her. Feeling her pressing herself up against him gave him a very guilty sort of pleasure. In the case that they should ever trip and fall over, with him landing on top of her, he suspected that it would be a similar feeling- it wasn't right to like the contact, but he liked it anyway.

Rubblepaw moved his paw on top of Honeypool's. She must have noticed, because she kneaded her paws and pulled away from Rubblepaw for a second only to run up against him affectionately, purring. This was taking an unexpected turn.

"Thank you for letting me do that," she murmured, standing back up. "I've been thinking a lot about Dewpaw lately, and getting the chance to talk openly about it really helped."

"It's the least I can do for you," said Rubblepaw shyly. He realized that he was batting his eye at her and promptly stopped doing so. "Um, should we keep hunting?"

"Yeah, I think so. Now, here's a good method for hunting larger prey." Honeypool motioned to a bunch of pine needles. "Let's say that's a rabbit you want to hunt. How do you go about it? Well, to start off…"

Rubblepaw listened to his mentor's instructions, nodding along and watching the twinkle in her eyes when she demonstrated the pouncing technique. He sure was lucky to know such an amazing cat.


	15. Chapter 15

It was an exceptionally cold morning, and the wind only made it worse. Rubblepaw hadn't slept very well that night, so he wasn't in the vest of moods, and the low temperature didn't exactly help. He wished he was still curled up in his nest, which, while not providing as much warmth as he would have liked, was still good enough to make him very reluctant to climb out of it.

"We can't expect the Alliance to take us seriously if we keep operating the way we have been," Strikestar was saying to the Clan from his stump in the pale morning light. "For starters: we must have borders! I've come up with some boundaries for RogueClan territory that I consider appropriate considering the side of the Clan and common locations of prey."

"Question, Strikestar: why not make our territory as large as possible, to make ourselves seem more threatening and powerful?" Darkstep inquired.

"The Alliance has seen the size of our Clan," Strikestar answered. "They know we don't have the means to defend a large territory."

"They'll probably just invade again anyway. What's the point of borders?" Squirreltail asked. "All they'll do is keep us in, not keep them out."

Strikestar didn't answer that. Rubblepaw thought it was a good point, but the Clans he'd heard of had borders, so it made sense for them to do the same.

"This represents our camp," Strikestar said instead, jumping down to mark an X in the snow. "And this line is the Thunderpath. This symbol is the Alliance's base… and here's the twoleg walking trail."

Rubblepaw leaned forward to see what his brother was drawing; he could see that other cats were doing the same. Sure enough, it seemed to be an accurate enough map.

"This line here is going to be our border." Strikestar drew a line along the outside of the twoleg walking trail that cut across it just before the thunderpath. "No cat is allowed to cross this line, which includes us- no member of RogueClan may leave our territory unless it's an emergency. Exceptions may be made, but only under my authority."

"Um, Strikestar, sir, what about us?"

All cats' eyes fixed on Rustle, who sat, his tail entwined with Brownie's, at the edge of the crowd. He looked a bit scared to be asking the question.

"Are we members of RogueClan?" the ginger tom pressed, sounding braver now, but still slightly insecure. "Or rather, do you give us permission to become members of RogueClan?"

Murmurs sprang up from the crowd. Rubblepaw hoped that Strikestar would say yes, but he was almost certain that he'd give the opposite answer.

Every cat was watching the leader now. The intimidating but young gray tabby said nothing. He simply fixed his gaze on Rustle for a long time. No cat spoke in those heavy seconds; it was as if the world might be set on fire at any moment.

"If you want to join, first you must prove your loyalty," Strikestar said finally. "And the only way to do that is by putting your lives on the line for RogueClan."

"Isn't that asking a bit much?" Honeypool protested.

"These cats could pose a serious threat-"

"These cats followed Rubblepaw of their own accord!"

Strikestar and Honeypool stared at each other, their fur standing on end and their ears flattening. It was like a staring contest. Strikestar slowly drew back his lips in a snarl that rose up from deep in his throat, but Honeypool stood her ground, matching the leader's movements beat for beat.

For a moment, Rubblepaw half expected them to start fighting. He had no idea who he'd root for if such a thing ever did happen- his leader and brother versus his best friend. Fortunately, the two cats never exchanged blows. Just when the tension seemed to be at its highest, a weak voice rang through the camp, coming from right next to Frostglaze, who was sitting right near his workspace with herbs scattered around at his paws.

"Don't… join them, Rustle. We made an oath… to the Alliance…"

It was Dusty, Rubblepaw realized; the brown tom had been holding onto life, but hadn't been making much of a recovery, and had been unconscious almost the whole time since Rubblepaw had taken him and his friends to the camp, so no cat had been expecting him to speak up. And yet now he was, having dragged himself out of the alcove in the snowbank where he was supposed to be resting. He was even struggling to sit up, although Frostglaze was looking at him worriedly, trying to coax him into lying back down.

"Dusty, when you got hit, we took you to Mist for help," Rustle told his friend. "She didn't care about you, Dusty! She would have let you die. Our queen gives no thought to her Alliance. We're not cats to her at all; just a means to an end- and that end is power."

"Actually, that's not quite true," Brownie murmured. "She has all the power she wants. What she really cares about is her son."

"Yes, that's right… her son," Dusty agreed, his eyes narrowing. "The son… she had found… the son who is sitting right... over there…"

He lifted a paw to point at Rubblepaw. Every cat's gaze fell upon him. More murmurs broke out, this time louder and all directed at Rubblepaw.

"That's enough!" Strikestar snapped. "Your friends have my permission to join RogueClan if they wish… but _you_ are clearly still loyal to the Alliance! Well, I hope your lovely queen Mist will be happy to have you back!"

"And you, Strikestar…" Dusty coughed, but he went right on talking, a malevolence in his weak voice that didn't seem fitting of a cat in such a sorry state. "My queen will be happy… when she finds out… _both_ her sons still live…"

"Dusty, be quiet!" Brownie yelled, clearly upset by her friend's words. "These cats are nice- a lot nicer than any cat in the Alliance ever was to us! The only cat who was kind to us there was you- but if I have to choose between you and Strikestar, I'd choose him over you any day!"

"You won't have to choose… between us," Dusty cackled quietly. "Not… if Strikestar comes home… to take his rightful place as king."

"That's enough talking for today," Frostglaze said firmly, pressing a paw over his patient's mouth. "Get back in my medicine den at once and stay there until I say you're fit to leave."

Dusty complied, but the damage was already done. Every cat's eyes were fixed on not Rubblepaw anymore, but now Strikestar, whose proud gaze faltered under the burning stares of his Clanmates. The plan to implement borders was long forgotten, and the plan he'd drawn up in the snow had been trampled by his own paws.

"It would really be an honour to join you, Strikestar," Rustle said softy, dipping his head respectfully; Brownie did the same. "We'll even get proper Clan names if you want."

"That's perfect." It was hard to believe that mere hours ago Strikestar had been so dead set against letting these cats join. Rubblepaw supposed that a scary confrontation could change your outlook on things pretty quickly. "There's nothing more we need right now than more cats."

The Clan was still uneasy, but they had settled down enough for Rubblepaw to feel certain that no cat was judging him or his brother. Rubblepaw may have been the last cat to find out that he and Strikestar were kin, but they'd been the only two cats to know that they were also related to Mist.

But there was something else to capture RogueClan's attention now- they were about to have two new members. Rustle and Brownie ran eagerly up to the base of the stump from which Strikestar addressed the Clan once he had hopped back up on it.

"Cats of RogueClan, it is my duty to welcome these two cats," Strikestar meowed, sounding confident and happy again, like a true Clan leader- even if the words weren't quite the traditional ceremonial words. "Rustle and Brownie, you were part of the Alliance, but now you say you wish to join us."

They nodded.

"And then, do you promise to always be loyal to RogueClan, and to obey my word, no matter what the cost?"

"Of course we do!" Rustle said.

"Yes, we have complete confidence that you'll lead us far better than Mist ever would have," Brownie agreed.

"In that case, from now on, you'll be part of RogueClan!" Strikestar paused for a second before continuing. "Rustle, from now on, you'll be known as Rustleleaf. Brownie, you will be known as Browndapple. Congratulations; you're in!"

"Rustleleaf! Browndapple!" the cats cheered.

Rubblepaw felt happy for them. He wondered what would happen to Dusty now that he had made his loyalty to the Alliance clear. Maybe Strikestar would order Frostglaze to let him die. Or maybe if Dusty recovered, Strikestar would send him away. Rubblepaw hoped it would be the latter, but with Strikestar, it was hard to tell.

"This meeting is over," Strikestar declared, stepping down from his stump and looking pleased. "We will revisit the issue of borders if and when it becomes relevant."

That sounded reasonable to Rubblepaw. As the cats dispersed, many of them stopping to congratulate Rustleleaf and Browndapple, Rubblepaw ran up to Honeypool.

"I think it was really cool how you stood up to Strikestar," he told her. "I didn't know you were so brave."

"It was no big deal," she said dismissively. "He was being a mouse-brain, and some cat had to call him out on it. Besides, when a Clan leader says something questionable, it's a deputy's job to challenge it."

"You mean you consider yourself a deputy?"

"Sure I do." Honeypool had a teasing glint in her eyes, but she seemed like she meant it, too. "After all, every true Clan needs a deputy."

"Every true Clan needs a medicine cat, too." It was Frostglaze, approaching with a twinkle I his eye and a bundle of herbs in his mouth. "And I think that would be me. I must say, I do love to hunt and fight, but healing is really what I do best. The only problem is my kits, but I don't think they'll be much of a problem."

With all the cats talking and laughing, everything seemed just about perfect right then to Rubblepaw. It was still cold, but the winds were dying down, and the sun was coming out. It truly was the ideal moment.

But it was still just a moment among countless moments.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Whoa, this is the longest chapter yet! I got too caught up writing the fight scenes… btw, please feel free to leave a review if you have anything you want to say, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks!**

It was as Rubblepaw was returning to camp empty-pawed after an unsuccessful hunting patrol that he met the mysterious cat. Although Rustleleaf and Browndapple had been eager to start serving their new Clan as soon as possible, they had been used to a very different lifestyle in the Alliance, and they had accidentally frightened all the prey away. Emberfur had managed to catch a squirrel, but it wasn't very big, and the tortoiseshell seemed understandably angry at her new Clanmates.

Rubblepaw couldn't really blame them, and they looked pretty guilty, but it was a bit annoying to be returning to camp with barely anything to feed their Clan. The snow was soft and wet that day, and the ice that had been covering the forest floor in sheets was finally melting away. That meant that there were puddles and trickles of melted, slushy water here and there, like miniature lakes and rivers. It was fun to watch the water running down the slopes and pooling at the bottom, but it made for a lot of wet paws.

"We're sorry," Browndapple was apologizing. "We didn't know that the birds would fly away. We thought birds were supposed to be stupid."

"They are. But they're smart enough to notice when a cat is trying to chase them like they're rabbits," Emberfur huffed around her squirrel. "How exactly did you hunt while you were in the Alliance, anyway?"

"Dusty caught most of our food for us," Rustleleaf admitted. "We used to be kittypets once, so we were never very good at hunting. I ran away when a friend of mine told me about the cutter. He said if your housefolk took you there, you wouldn't be able to have kits."

"The two of us had always wanted kit, so we knew we had to leave before our housefolk could do that to us," Browndapple added. "But when we ran away and left twolegplace, we realized we didn't really know how to survive in the wild…"

The mates exchanged a nervous glance.

"That was why you were forced to join the Alliance, right?" Rubblepaw asked.

"Yes; it wasn't a choice we were proud of, but we couldn't survive in the wild on our own," Rustleleaf confirmed. "We could have stayed in twolegplace, but there were too many dogs there, and the other cats didn't like us because of something I said once. It's a long story, but one time I was-"

"Shh." Emberfur had stopped, and was standing with her ears pricked. "Do you smell that?"

Rubblepaw sniffed the air. Sure enough, he could detect the faint scent of a strange cat. The smell was similar to that of Alliance cats, but it didn't smell quite as… dirty.

"What do you smell? Is it prey?" Browndapple inquired, not bothering to lower her voice. "Do you smell some more prey we can catch?"

"Be quiet," Emberfur hissed. "I'm trying to listen for something."

"What are you listening for?" Rustleleaf asked, his voice quieter than his mate's had been but still loud enough to potentially alert another cat to their presence. "I don't hear anything."

"I don't either, but I smell something- a cat." Emberfur took a tentative step forward, her paw making a barely audible crunch on the snow as she set it down. "I'm listening for sounds of them moving around so I can pinpoint their location."

Rubblepaw was trying to do the same. But the only sound was the wind blowing through the spruce trees. Since they'd frightened all the prey away, there wasn't even birdsong at the moment.

Suddenly there was a loud crunching noise. Rubblepaw jumped, startled; Emberfur yelped in surprise at the noise. Rustleleaf and Browndapple exchanged another nervous glance. They looked around, but apparently didn't see anything.

Rubblepaw saw something, though. There were a few white, downy feathers drifting down from above him. One of them landed on his head, and he shook it off, blinking up in confusion at where the feathers had fallen from.

In the tree above him, one branch was drooping a little more than it should have been. The dark green needles obscured his view, but it looked like there was a cat in the tree eating a bird. Rubblepaw flicked his tail against Emberfur's side to get her attention. When she looked over, he nodded up to the tree with the hidden cat.

"What is it? What's going on?" Rustleleaf asked. "Is it the Alliance?"

"It must be, but there's something different this time," Emberfur muttered. "Why would this cat be eating a bird like this if it's trying to hide? It must want us to find it."

There were several more rapid crunching sounds from up in the tree, and then an exaggeratedly loud lip-smacking noise. The branch that was hanging just a bit too low bobbed up and down slightly, as though the cat were standing up. Sure enough, a moment later a white she-cat with light gray blotches appeared at the end of the branch. She was fairly high up, but Rubblepaw could see her smug expression. He could see that she was wearing a bright pink collar, but it didn't have fangs in it.

"Well, aren't you little RogueClan kitties just the cleverest?" she purred coyly. "You must be so proud you caught me. And you even guessed my little plan! I can see why you think you're so special. Little old me didn't stand a chance again you toughies!"

"Who are you and what's your name?" Emberfur demanded.

"Oh, what a brave warrior you are!" the pink-collared cat giggled, bringing her paw up to her mouth as though to mimic a twoleg gesture. "Well, if you must know, my name is- and sit back, because this is a great name- no, really, I meant it. You should sit down. I can see you've been working hard; you deserve a break."

"Stop wasting my time!" Emberfur snapped. "If you don't want to tell us your name, then don't! Just don't dance around like some-"

She broke off with a yowl that came to an abrupt end. Rubblepaw's eye had been fixed on the stranger, but when he whipped around he gasped. There were two muscular toms that had snuck up on them while the cat in the tree had their attention. One of them was a brown tabby who was now holding an unconscious Emberfur in his jaws like prey, and the other had short black fur and a scar down his flank. He was slowly closing in on Rubblepaw, his lips drawn back in a sneer. Rustleleaf and Browndapple were shaking with fear, pressed together with their eyes shut. They certainly had seemed brave the day before when they'd stood up to Dusty, but Dusty hadn't exactly been in shape to fight. These two burly toms, however, definitely were.

The black tom pounced on Rubblepaw like he was a mouse. Rubblepaw struggled to get out from under the massive cat's grip. It was like a tree had fallen on him; flailing around was useless. His attacker lowered his head, opening his mouth. Rubblepaw twisted around in time to see the large white fangs headed for his throat.

"Tsk, tsk, Jet!" It was the cat up in the tree again. She was shaking her head and scolding the black tom like he was a naughty kit. "Remember what I told you about the gray kit with the scars? He gets stay alive."

"I'm not a kit," Rubblepaw protested. It was ridiculous- he was in mortal peril and his highest priority was to make sure his attackers understood that he was over six moons old. "I'm an apprentice."

"You're not a kit, huh?" The cat on top of him grunted. "I bet you squeal like one, though."

He twisted Rubblepaw around so that his front legs were pinned behind his back. It stung, but Rubblepaw gritted his teeth and ignored the pain. Then he felt his tail being pulled. He let out a short yelp; the black tom laughed.

Rubblepaw was helpless against this cat. In an effort to outsmart him, he went limp, hoping the black cat would think he was surrendering.

Sure enough, the weight on his back lifted for just long enough for Rubblepaw to jump backwards into his opponent, jabbing his shoulderblade into the muscular cat's ribs. Rather than try to attack while his opponent was off-guard, he simple ducked and ran out from under him and toward the other cat.

While the black tom had been busy with Rubblepaw, the brown tabby had been worrying Emberfur back and forth like a dog. Rubblepaw couldn't even tell whether or not the tortoiseshell warrior was still alive, but he had to try to save her. Rustleleaf and Browndapple were still uselessly cowering as far away from the action as they could get, and the she-cat up in the tree seemed content to simply watch what seemed to be her henchmen carrying out the dirty work for her.

Rubblepaw launched himself at the brown tabby, who batted him away with a fat brown paw. Fighting this cat with winning in mind was useless- the same went for his companion. But if survival and escape were the objectives, it might be possible if Rubblepaw could think fast enough.

Rubblepaw ran forward again, this time keeping lower to the ground. When he got close enough, he jumped forward, headbutting the brown tabby tom and knocking him off his paws. Emberfur fell from his jaws and landed on the snow limply. Rubblepaw instantly pressed his paw to her neck, checking for a pulse. But he didn't have time. The tabby was getting back up, and the black one was closing in from behind. For an instant, Rubblepaw considered ducking down at the last moment so that the two toms would collide in midair, knocking each other out. He knew it would never actually work, but entertaining the idea was fun nonetheless.

What Rubblepaw did instead was simply stand still, his single eye bulging with fear and darting back and forth between the two muscular toms closing in on him from either side. He knew that they'd spare him, since he was the prince of the Alliance. But even so, he didn't want to be taken back to queen Mist. Even though she was his mother, and even though she really did seem to love him in some bizarre, twisted way, Rubblepaw wanted nothing to do with the light gray queen. The only reason he'd been able to escape last time was because he'd caught her off-guard. This time, she'd be expecting a similar escape attempt. What had been a miracle to have worked the first time would not work the second.

The black tom leapt into the air to pounce on Rubblepaw again. Rubblepaw flinched instinctively in advance. But to his surprise, the cat's claws never made contact with him. When Rubblepaw looked up, he saw that the black tom had been knocked out of the air and was now rolling around furiously on the ground fighting with… Rustleleaf?

When he looked back to the brown tabby, Rubblepaw saw that he, too, was preoccupied- Browndapple had climbed onto his back and had dug her claws in. The tabby was trying to shake her off, but she was holding on tight.

Rubblepaw blinked several times. They really had helped him out after all! Maybe he should have given these cats more credit.

"Th-thank you both very much," he mewed gratefully, not sure if they could even hear him while so caught up in the heat of battle. "I'll pay it back to you sometime soon."

Now that he knew he had at least a little time, he turned his attention back to Emberfur. The she-cat's sides were rising and falling, but her breathing was faint and shallow. Her fur was matted with blood along her back, and a thin trickle of blood was running out of her mouth and pooling in the snow below her muzzle. Her eyes were flickering open and closed, looking glazed over.

Rubblepaw wasn't any good at herbs. He pressed some snow onto her back where the toothmarks were deepest, and tried to lick her clean. She let out a soft, low moan, shifting around slightly.

"You should try to stay still," Rubblepaw told her. "I'll get you back to camp in a minute, okay? Just hang on while I tell Strikestar."

He left her, hoping she would still be alive when he came back. They had been so close to camp when they'd been attacked; it would take less than a minute at a run…

Rubblepaw bolted into the RogueClan camp no more than thirty seconds later. He stopped, panting, for a second before reminding himself that there was no time to waste. Bearpelt was sharing tongues with Squirreltail and Specklestone in the clearing while Strikestar hung back, eating a chickadee and looking preoccupied- no doubt he was thinking up battle strategies.

"Strikestar, we were attacked!" Rubblepaw cried. "Come with me- and bring Frostglaze!"

"Frostglaze is still busy tending to Dusty… but that fleabag is still loyal to the Alliance," Strikestar growled. "If a Clanmate is in danger, that's more important. I'll go get him."

Rubblepaw felt kind of bad for Dusty, despite the brown tom's obvious loyalty to the enemy. But he was glad that Strikestar was a good enough leader to put his Clanmates' lives ahead of all else.

Strikestar went over to the snowbank where Frostglaze worked, which had melted down quite a bit along with the rest of the snow but was still big enough to provide a decent amount of space for herb storage. A few seconds later, the white tom emerged along with the leader, looking concerned. He was carrying a bundle of herbs in his mouth.

Rubblepaw nodded toward them and then took off running. The older cats followed him, with Frostglaze catching up quickly and overtaking him just before Strikestar caught up as well. Before long, they were back at the scene of the fight. The black and tabby cats were still battling Rustleleaf and Browndapple, but it was clear that they were winning. Emberfur was still lying motionless in the snow.

"Oh, no, this is bad," Frostglaze muttered, dropping down beside her and checking her pulse. "She only has minor external wounds, but she seems to have some internal damage as well…"

"That probably came from being shaken back and forth," Rubblepaw realized.

"Will she live?" pressed Strikestar.

"That depends," Frostglaze answered. "Now, if you would please step back so I can have some space…"

"Sorry," Rubblepaw mewed, stepping back politely.

Watching Frostglaze work was always interesting- the way he pressed cobwebs into wounds and applied herbs with confidence. But this time there was something more pressing to deal with first- while Frostglaze helped one of his Clanmates, it was up to Rubblepaw and Strikestar to help Rustleleaf and Browndapple.

"I'll take the black one; you go for the tabby," Strikestar said briskly.

Rubblepaw nodded. Browndapple was somehow still managing to cling on to the back of the massive brown tabby tom, but maybe it would have been better if she'd let go a while back. The tabby had rolled over and was repeatedly slamming the dappled she-cat into the ground. The cat in the tree was still simply watching.

Rubblepaw jumped onto the tabby and started clawing at his soft, exposed underbelly. The tabby caught Rubblepaw's head between his front paws and dug his claws in, squeezing his paws together as if he were trying to crush Rubblepaw's skull. Maybe that was what he was trying to do. Rubblepaw hoped it wasn't.

While the brown tabby was distracted by Rubblepaw, Browndapple took the opportunity to slink away. Then she doubled around and bit down on his front leg. The tabby yowled in pain, letting Rubblepaw out of his grip. Rubblepaw gave his opponent a few good scratches before jumping away.

Now that the tabby was outnumbered, he began to back away. Browndapple hissed and he ran away, his tail between his legs. Rubblepaw was surprised; he hadn't expected such an easy win. He wondered how Strikestar and Rustleleaf were doing against the black tom.

Apparently they weren't doing quite as well. Rustleleaf was standing up on his hind legs, swiping and batting furiously at the large black tom, while Strikestar darted in, nipped at his hind legs, and then darted away again. Yet somehow the black tom barely seemed fazed by all of this. As Rubblepaw watched, he knocked Rustleleaf down and slashed the ginger tom's side, splitting it wide open. Strikestar tried to strike at his opponent's hind legs again, but he was sent flying by a powerful kick.

Rubblepaw could hardly believe what he was seeing. He had to help! But when he attacked the powerful black cat, he could barely get in two swipes before feeling fangs close around the back of his neck.

"Jet, what did I tell you? Don't kill that one!" the cat in the tree reminded him.

Jet ignored her words. He tightened his grip. Rubblepaw could feel his skin being punctured. All it would take was a few more whisker-lengths deeper before he'd be finished.

But Jet released his grip on Rubblepaw, because Strikestar had leapt onto his back and was now ripping at his short black fur furiously. Rubblepaw wanted to help, but he didn't even need to. Strikestar brought a paw up and kept it in the air for a moment before bringing it down in a jabbing motion to the side of Jet's neck. The large tom collapsed and Strikestar hopped off, at Rubblepaw's side in a flash.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Strikestar. But Rustleleaf is bleeding pretty badly…"

"I'll help!" Frostglaze called. "I gave Emberfur some poppy seeds for the pain, and I think she'll be okay for now as long as we can get her back to camp quickly enough."

Rubblepaw nodded. Now that the battle was over, he felt oddly numb. He could see blood coming from his own body, but it hadn't really hurt during the battle. Now it was starting to hurt, and it hurt pretty badly.

"Huh. You won without a single one of you dying." The white-and-gray she-cat was still sitting in the spruce tree, and she sounded genuinely surprised. "Jack is a coward, but Jet is the best fighter I've ever known. Then again, I suppose it makes sense seeing as he was outnumbered three-to-one."

"What happens now?" Strikestar asked. "Are you going to come down and fight us too?"

"Oh, no, I'd never do such a violent thing," she purred. "I'm not the type to get into trouble."

She gazed down at them each in turn, her light blue-gray eyes sparkling mischievously before jumping down onto a lower branch. From there, she jumped down to the ground.

"Don't look so worried; I said I won't hurt you. I've seen how strong you are," she assured them. "I'm not the reckless type, after all- that was always my sister's job."

"Sister?" Rubblepaw echoed.

The white-and-gray she-cat smiled mysteriously before turning and, with a flick of her tail, walking away.


	17. Chapter 17

"We've got wounded!" Strikestar called as he entered the camp with Rustleleaf passed out on his back. "Coming through; give us some room…"

Rubblepaw, who was helping Frostglaze carry Emberfur, was still wondering about the white-and-grey she-cat. She didn't have a fang-studded collar, but Jet and Jack, the two cats they'd fought against, had been wearing them. Those toms had definitely smelled like they were from the Alliance, without the strangely different scent that the she-cat had.

That cat had seemed familiar in the strangest way. It wasn't like the first time he'd seen Strikestar or Mist- or rather, not the first time, but the first time in a long time. Rubblepaw was positive that he'd never met that cat before, but he felt like he'd met a cat like her. There was something about the way her eyes sparkled, or maybe it was the fluff on the end of her tail… either way, there was something very odd about that cat, and Rubblepaw wanted to find out more about her.

"Tell me more about what happened, Strikestar," Bearpelt begged. "Emberfur isn't going to die, is she?!"

"I hope not," Frostglaze answered grimly. "But there's something I'm missing here. I've looked her over and I can't see any deep puncture marks on her, and yet she seems to be bleeding quite a bit. There must be something I haven't noticed. I've just got to look her over again…"

Honeypool was hanging back, not as visibly worried for the injured tortoiseshell as Bearpelt but still clearly concerned for her friend's life. Rubblepaw wondered if he should try to comfort her, but of course there was a more pressing matter right now.

Rubblepaw could feel the unconscious cat slipping down. He ducked forward under her back to support her. They made it over to Frostglaze's makeshift medicine den and set her down; Strikestar and Browndapple were setting down Rustleleaf close by. The light ginger tom had walked part of the way back to camp, leaning up against Strikestar and apologizing over and over again for getting his pelt bloody, before passing out and having had to be carried. Rubblepaw had been worried that Browndapple might faint as well, since she had hit her head multiple times during the battle, but she seemed fine and helped carry her mate the rest of the way without complaining.

"Can I help out at all, or should I go?" Rubblepaw asked now.

Frostglaze didn't say anything in reply. He was sniffing at Emberfur's head, awareness dawning in his eyes.

He grabbed some cobwebs almost absentmindedly and started pressing them into the gash in Rustleleaf's side while he pressed a chunk of snow onto the back of Emberfur's head. Then he rummaged around in his herb selection, coming up with something green that had leaves. Since it was leaf-bare, Frostglaze didn't have a lot of herbs, but he was very gifted at working with what he had available.

Rubblepaw decided that he didn't really feel like watching the white tom work. Strikestar was a good leader, but from what Rubblepaw had seen, he didn't seem to have the best track record for giving cats all the information they might want. Maybe he could inform Honeypool about his encounter in more detail.

But Honeypool was busy talking to Strikestar. Their meows were in hushed, urgent tones, and as Rubblepaw watched they ducked under the branches of the pine tree into Strikestar's den. It was clear that they were having a private conversation. Rubblepaw remembered how mad Honeypool had gotten the last time he'd spied on her, so he knew not to eavesdrop on them.

A few minutes later, the branches rustled and Honeypool came back out. Strikestar followed a few seconds later, liking his paw casually.

"So what was that about?" Rubblepaw asked her despite himself. "The conversation with Strikestar, I mean- what were you talking about?"

"It's a personal matter," Honeypool mewed curtly. "It doesn't concern you. Sorry," she added, sounding nicer now. "I like you, but you don't need to know everything about my life."

"Is it about Dewpaw?" he guessed.

Honeypool didn't answer. She looked away, chewing on her lip. Rubblepaw guessed from her reaction that he'd been right.

"Do you want to know what the cats we battled looked like?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "There was two toms- Jack and Jet. Jack was a brown tabby and Jet's fur was black and super short. The cat in the tree was a gray-and-white she-cat wearing a pink collar, but it didn't have fangs in it. The tree cat didn't fight us, but she looked pretty evil."

"…Did you catch the name of the cat in the tree?" Honeypool asked, her ears pricked.

"No, she pretended she was going to tell us but it was just a distraction while her thugs snuck up behind us."

"I see." Her tail drooped slightly but she purred- in a way that sounded a bit forced, though. "Well, I suppose that's just as well; it's not like any of us would have known that cat anyway. Well, I suppose Rustleleaf and Browndapple might know her, but if they didn't show any sign of recognizing her I guess they must not have."

Rubblepaw nodded thoughtfully. Why has his friend's reaction to the description of the cat in the tree been so strange? It was almost as if she'd been disappointed that Rubblepaw hadn't gotten her name. An idea occurred to him, but it was dumb. He pushed it away. There was no way she could be…

"Hey, Rubblepaw, can you come play with us?" Yellowkit and Daisykit were staring up at him expectantly, their big yellow-amber eyes wide and hopeful. "Our daddy's working, so he can't play right now. Could you do it instead?"

"Okay, sure," Rubblepaw agreed. He glanced at Honeypool. "I suppose there's no chance you'd want to play kit games with me."

"Actually, kit games seem like they could be the perfect distraction right about now," Honeypool said thoughtfully. "Maybe I could even teach them a few games they've never played before."

"Yay! Honeypool is coming to play with us," Yellowkit mewed happily.

"She's like our aunt," Daisykit commented.

"Huh? H-how do you figure that?"

"Well, um, Rubblepaw plays with us a lot, so he's like an uncle," the little yellow-and-white kit explained, looking up at the sky as she spoke. "…Right? So, um, that makes Honeypool an aunt because, uh, she's always hanging out with Rubblepaw…"

"Yeah, but they're not mates," Yellowkit objected, puffing out his chest as though he was proud to show off his knowledge to his sister. "If they were, they'd do more of the things mates do together."

"What do mates do together?"

"Well, they, uh, go hunting together."

"But Rubblepaw and Honeypool do that together all the time."

Rubblepaw's face was growing hot under his fur. He couldn't stand to look Honeypool in the eye, he was so embarrassed. But when he glanced at her he could see that she was feeling the same way about the kits' conversation.

"We are not mates!" the honey-coloured warrior mewed, her voice shaking with laughter. "Rubblepaw is only an apprentice- in fact, he's _my_ apprentice! We're both way too young to have mates!"

"Oh, okay." Daisykit blinked up at Honeypool apologetically. "I didn't know any better."

"You see? I was right all along," Yellowkit mewed triumphantly. "I knew that they couldn't be mates because Rubblepaw can't have a mate… 'cause he's an apprentice."

"Will Fishpaw ever have a mate?" Daisykit wondered.

"Why do you care? Have you got a crush?" Yellowkit teased. "He'd never like you, you flower-head! He's almost a grown-up already!"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Honeypool put in, her whiskers quivering ith amusement. "So, er, do you still want us to play with you, or do you think you can entertain yourselves?"

"Play with us!" the kits chorused.

"Okay, we'll play with you," Rubblepaw meowed. "But you have you promise not to ask us about which cats have mates, okay?"

"Okay," Daisykit giggled.

"We won't even say when those new cats we got from the Alliance start rubbing their noses together," Yellowkit added with a failed attempt to suppress a snort.

"Ugh, nose rubbing!" Daisykit wrinkled her own tiny pink nose in disgust. "If I had a mate, I'd never touch noses with them! I'd only lick them."

"I bet you wanna lick _Fishpaw_ ," Yellowkit teased. "I bet you wanna lick him aaalllll over, because you're in love with- mmph!"

He was cut off when his littermate tackled him to the ground, clamping her paw over his mouth indignantly. They rolled around angrily in the snow.

Honeypool and Rubblepaw exchanged an amused glance. Honeypool shrugged, as if to say, _kits will be kits_. Rubblepaw nodded, purring when he saw that his friends' ear was twitching again. He knew he shouldn't laugh at involuntary muscle spasms, but seeing this full-grown cat's ear flicking forward repeatedly was funny to watch.

"Don't worry, I don't mind if you're amused by my ear flicking forward," Honeypool assured him, as though she's read his mind. "Dewpaw always used to laugh at it too, even though she had the same tic."

"Oh, did she? That's interesting," Rubblepaw observed. "It must be genetic. Your folk don't seem to have it, though."

"Have you ever seen my parents when they're happy?" she asked. "And I don't mean not sad, I mean really, genuinely, extremely happy. Have you ever seen them like that?"

"No," he admitted.

"Here's hoping you'll get the chance someday," Honeypool meowed, nodding to Rubblepaw.

She bumped her forehead up against Rubblepaw's playfully. For a second he could swear she was about to touch noses with him, but she didn't. When Rubblepaw looked up, he could see that Daisykit and Yellowkit were watching them.

"Maybe they really are mates after all," Daisykit said quietly.

"Nah, they're too cool to do something as gross as falling in love," Yellowkit said dismissively.

Rubblepaw hadn't expected to end up having such a fun time less than an hour after he'd been in a life-or-death struggle, but it was funny how things worked out sometimes.


	18. Chapter 18

"Okay, here's where the border is going to be. We need to mark our scent here so that outsiders know they're on our territory from this point on."

It was early in the morning, and the border plan that Strikestar had suggested over a week ago now was finally being put into action. Rubblepaw had gone up to the marshy area with Honeypool, Specklestone, and Rustleleaf, while Darkstep had taken Fishpaw, Bearpelt, and Browndapple in the opposite direction. The two patrols would mark the designated borders, circling around until they met up. Then they'd head back to camp, except for Darkstep and Fishpaw- the young silver cat apparently still needed a bit of hunting practice before he could have his final assessment in a few days.

It almost seemed wrong that Fishpaw would probably be becoming a warrior before Rubblepaw, even though he was younger than him. Rubblepaw had to remind himself that unlike him, Fishpaw was Clan-born, so he had actually been an apprentice for a fair bit longer than Rubblepaw. Even so, Fishpaw's training couldn't have been going on for any longer than two moons at the most (Rubblepaw's training had been going on for just over a moon now), so it seemed a little early for him to be having his final assessment so soon.

These thoughts weighed on Rubblepaw's mind while he followed the patrol around, stopping every few tail-lengths or so to mark his scent. He was very absentminded the whole time; it felt like there were more important things he could be doing right now. Maybe he could finally fix the damage that had been done to his nest. The wind storm that had nearly destroyed the mass of twigs seemed like it had occurred a lifetime ago now. In fact, Rubblepaw could hardly remember hearing another cat address him as "Rogue", or seeing the fear in a loner's eyes when they saw his scars.

All the cats in RogueClan accepted Rubblepaw, and although this wasn't necessarily a good thing- since he wouldn't want to be friends with them anyway- even when he came across cats from the Alliance, they didn't seem fazed by his scars either.

At least that part made sense; living in such bad conditions must have left cats more likely to get into fights, which would lead to them having more scars- like th one Rustleleaf had running down his side now, although ironically, he'd gotten that one after leaving the Alliance.

"I'm glad your leg is better now, Specklestone," Honeypool meowed. "Frostglaze's medicine den is full enough as it is."

"Oh, I get what you're saying," her mother replied teasingly. "You're saying it'd be an inconvenience to Frostglaze if I was still in there taking up room, is that it?"

"Mother, I'm just saying that it's better you're healed," Honeypool purred. "But yes, it's good that Frostglaze can concentrate on Emberfur."

"Don't forget about Dusty," Rustleleaf piped up. "Oh, sure, his heart still lies with the Alliance, but he's still a cat."

"I can't believe he's still in the medicine den," Rubblepaw commented. "I would have thought he'd have either gotten better or died by now."

"Oh, that monster barely scraped him, really," Rustleleaf said dismissively. "If he'd wanted to get better, he would have a long time ago. He's probably just pretending he's hurt worse than he is so he can stick around longer- maybe get some critical info on RogueClan that he can use against us later."

"Did Frostglaze ever figure out what was wrong with Emberfur?" Specklestone wondered.

"He said she got hit on the head, like Browndapple. But Emberfur was affected by it more than she was," Honeypool explained.

"Yeah, my Brownie's got a thick skull," Rustleleaf purred. "She's a lot tougher than me, that's for sure. But Dusty was tougher than both of us. Of course, no cat could touch queen Mist…"

"Does Emberfur have brain damage?" Rubblepaw asked. "I hope she doesn't. I hope she'll recover okay. She's a nice cat."

"Yeah, she's been my best friend ever since I lost my sister," Honeypool added wistfully. "When Dewpaw died, Emberfur treated me really nicely- well, every cat was feeling sorry for me, of course, but Emberfur kept treating me nicely after every other cat's sympathy wore off. She was already a warrior and I was a new apprentice, but she said that a cat's age didn't matter when it came to friendship."

"Aww, that's sweet," Rustleleaf purred. "You know, I used to have a friend back in twolegplace who loved to follow me around…"

Rubblepaw didn't have much interest in the direction the conversation was heading, so he tuned it out and concentrated on his surroundings instead. There were a lot of birch trees here, and across the walking trail he could see a little clearing. This was the place that RogueClan had been camping out before Rubblepaw had taken them to the glade where his tree was. The skinny birch trees didn't provide as much shelter as the black spruces did, so it was a good thing they'd decided to make the camp where it was.

Rubblepaw cringed when he remembered how overly excited he'd been. It wasn't like he was like that all the time or anything, but living in RogueClan really did make reality seem less like Rubblepaw's own little world where he could do what he wanted, and more like something big and beautiful but also dangerous that he was just one tiny part of. That kind of change in world view really could mellow a cat out in no time at all.

After their patrol met up with the other, they headed back to camp. Rubblepaw almost wanted to stop and hunt, but he knew there wasn't time. Maybe he could go hunting with Honeypool later in the day.

"Well, Fishpaw, let's stop here while the others head back to camp," Darkstep told her apprentice, splitting off from the rest of the group. "Now, can you smell any prey?"

Once they were back at camp, Rubblepaw headed straight for the fresh-kill pile. There were only two things there at the moment- a day-old nuthatch and a scrawny mouse. There had been a squirrel, but Rustleleaf and Browndapple had shared it before leaving to go mark the new borders.

Well, the mouse wouldn't be enough to fill him up, but the nuthatch had been sitting there since the day before… or wait, had it been there since two days ago? Still, it didn't look bad, and the cold temperatures should have kept it fresh. Rubblepaw's stomach growled, and Honeypool was standing behind him- she obviously wanted something as well. Having another cat watch him threw Rubblepaw off, and, flustered, he tossed her the mouse and grabbed the nuthatch for himself.

He gave the bird a few tentative licks first; it tasted normal. He took a few bites. It seemed fine. Rubblepaw ate the nuthatch, licking his lips afterward. When he was done, he noticed that Honeypool was talking to Strikestar again; they were speaking in hushed tones a few fox-lengths away. What were they talking about?

Rubblepaw didn't want to be rude, but his curiosity got the better of him. He crept silently into earshot and his behind a tree so they wouldn't see him. As soon he heard what they were saying, Rubblepaw's curiosity increased tenfold.

"And suppose you're right, and there really are dead ghost cats talking to you," Honeypool was saying. "Why don't they talk to every cat?"

"I'm the leader of RogueClan; it's only natural they'd talk to me before any other cat," Strikestar retorted. "Look, I've never had such a vivid dream before. I know it means something."

Rubblepaw peeked out from behind the tree, jumping back behind it a second later so as not to be spotted. So Strikestar had had a dream about spirits…

"If you're so sure the dream was a 'vision' or whatever, what spirits cats did you see?" Honeypool challenged.

Strikestar paused for a moment. When he spoke up again, he sounded almost excited.

"I saw Acornstar!" he said energetically. "There was starlight in his pelt, and he told me something… 'Embrace my words, so you may not repeat my mistakes.' I think he wants me to tell the others about my dream so we can stay out of danger later on."

"But what mistake did Acornstar ever make?"

"Well, maybe it has something to do with RogueClan being nomadic," Strikestar suggested. "Perhaps he wants us to stay where we are forever."

"But we're located right next to the Alliance's territory," Honeypool objected. "Wouldn't it make more sense to leave rather than stay? And why have we stayed here for so long, anyway?"

"That's not your concern," he snapped.

This was getting interesting. In fact, Rubblepaw was so caught up in listening in on their conversation that he forgot to stay out of sight. By the time he locked eyes with Strikestar, it was too late to do anything about it. He sheepishly stepped out from behind the tree, trying to act casual.

"Oh, hey, guys," he meowed nervously. "What were you talking about?"

"Strikestar had some dumb dream and he thinks it was a vision," Honeypool snorted, jerking her muzzle toward the leader rather rudely. "I told him he's wrong, but he won't listen."

"I'm telling you, it was real!" Strikestar insisted.

"In that case, what other cats did you see?"

"I saw Mintnose- that was the name of Frostglaze's mate," he added to Rubblepaw, who nodded thoughtfully. "But most of the cats there were ones I didn't know. They welcomed me, and spoke about how 'new' I was."

"So if you apparently saw all these dead cats…" Honeypool hesitated before asking, "Was Dewpaw there?"

Strikestar shook his head.

"As soon as I saw Acornstar and Mintnose there, I looked around for her, but I didn't see her," he said sadly.

"In that case, it must not have been a real vision," Honeypool decided. "I don't believe in spirit-cats in the first place, and neither should any sensible cat."

Rubblepaw wasn't sure if he agreed with his friend in this case, but who was he to argue? Besides, Honeypool was talking about this to Strikestar, not him. It would be rude to butt his nose into the conversation.

It wasn't until that night when Rubblepaw realized that it really did concern him after all. He wasn't Clan leader, and he didn't study herbs. He wasn't even a warrior yet. And yet, on that night he, too, had a dream.

 _He was being carried by someone. When he opened his eyes- not just one eye, but both of them; he had no scars in his dreams- he could see that the cat carrying him was Strikestar. But Strikestar was a very young cat here. He was even younger than Rubblepaw- no, that wasn't exactly true, because Rubblepaw himself was tiny._

 _Suddenly the up-and-down motion that came from Strikestar walking came to a stop. Rubblepaw was confused. Why had they stopped here? They were in the middle of a vast stretch of marshland, and Rubblepaw was dangling over a wide body of murky water that looked very deep. Fortunately, he was clamped firmly in the jaws of his older brother. Strikestar would take good care of-_

 _Strikestar's fangs loosened around Rubblepaw's scruff, and a moment later, they were gone altogether. Rubblepaw fell straight down, landing in the water with a splash and instantly sinking several tail-lengths deep. He desperately thrashed his tiny white paws, but to no avail. Rubblepaw wasn't very good at holding his breath. This couldn't turn out well._

 _Rubblepaw's head broke the surface and he gasped, drawing in glorious air. He brushed mud out of his eyes and could see Strikestar standing over him, watching. The young cat looked guilty, but he reached down and, with a small but powerful front paw, pushed Rubblepaw's head back down. Once Rubblepaw's head had been submerged for several seconds, the weight lightened, and Rubblepaw pushed fiercely against it. But he was getting dizzy from having to hold his breath, so he gave up pretty quickly._

 _Finally the weight vanished. Rubblepaw knew that if he poked his head back up Strikestar would push it back down again, so he held his breath until his lungs felt like they could burst at any moment. At that point Rubblepaw stuck his muzzle up from under the water, but not his whole head. He breathed in a few gulps of air before ducking back down. He repeated this process several more times until he was certain that Strikestar was gone._

 _He scrambled out of the muddy water and looked around. His paws sunk into the wet, marshy ground, and long grasses covered the damp turf for as far as his eyes could see. Strikestar was clearly long gone. Rubblepaw was tired, and his fur was wet and dirty. He collapsed, sleepy and miserable, on the wet grass. He sank into sleep slowly, but just quickly enough that he almost didn't feel the old, crooked fangs lifting him up by his scruff, and almost didn't notice the matted gray fur brushing against him as he was taken into the woods._

Rubblepaw woke up, knowing with absolute certainty that the events of the dream had rally happened. It explained so many things- how he and Strikestar had been separated, why they'd ended up so far apart; why Strikestar had been shocked to see him alive; how Boss had ended up taking care of him after finding him in the marsh.

And if his dream really was real- which Rubblepaw was positive it was- then an unbelievable yet inescapable truth had just come into Rubblepaw's vision.

Strikestar had tried to drown him.


	19. Chapter 19

_Why did you try to kill me?_ The question pressed in the back of Rubblepaw's mind for days. But he couldn't quite get up the nerve to ask Strikestar. It was like finding out that they were brothers all over again, but this time instead of the question being _how long did you know and why didn't you tell me?_ It was _why?_ Why would Strikestar have ever wanted Rubblepaw dead? And, worse yet, did he still want that now?

Once Rubblepaw had approached Strikestar in the evening, as the leader was heading back to his den.

"Strikestar," he'd called, "could you talk to me for a minute? I had this dream the other night and I think it was-"

"Not you, too!" Strikestar had seemed almost exasperated. "Isn't it enough for one cat to be insisting that dreams have some deeper magical meaning?"

Rubblepaw had been taken aback by his brother's harshness, but he'd pressed on.

"There were no spirit cats in my dream, but you and I were in it," he'd said, hoping that other cats weren't listening but being too urgent to check if they were. "I think it was stuff that really happened. You were carrying me, and-"

"I don't want to hear about it," Strikestar had snarled. "Now, go sit up in your dumb tree and go to sleep- unless you actually want to sleep under the bramble bush where you're _supposed_ to for a change!"

After having been cut off mid-sentence by Strikestar not once, but twice, Rubblepaw had become certain that his brother hadn't wanted to talk. And sure enough, Strikestar had been avoiding him since. Now, as Honeypool led Rubblepaw through a lesson on tracking scent trails effectively in a swath of trees just outside of camp, the leader's voice rang out through the trees, beckoning them back into the clearing.

"All cats gather here for a meeting!" Rubblepaw noticed that while Strikestar's words still seemed a bit off the mark, he was sounding more confident every time he addressed the Clan.

"It's been a while since Strikestar called a meeting," Honeypool noted. "We'd better go see what this is about."

"I hope it's not related to the Alliance again," Rubblepaw mewed. "I'm sick of hearing about it."

Rubblepaw hadn't encountered any more Alliance cats himself since the cat with the non-studded collar and her lackeys, but patrols had often reported smelling them, and at one point Fishpaw had snuck out of camp to do who-knows-what only to come running back claiming to have been attacked by the Alliance. When a patrol had been sent to investigate, they didn't find anything, so it wasn't clear whether or not he'd been telling the truth. Rubblepaw doubted that he had been, as he'd apparently gotten away with only a scratch on his side and a broken claw. Rubblepaw guessed that Fishpaw had accidentally nicked himself on a thornbush and then made up a lie to make himself seem tough.

RogueClan had been taking precautions against the Alliance, though. Along with the new borders, which were regularly patrolled and re-marked, Rustleleaf and Browndapple had let the Clan in on the location of the tunnels that the Alliance used to get around without being noticed. Rubblepaw had gotten kind of scared when he'd found out that the tunnels made up a vast maze, and that several of them came up right by the RogueClan camp. Strikestar had ordered that the tunnels be blocked off, which they had been, but it was still worrying. Rubblepaw had become even more worried when Rustleleaf admitted that there were probably still more places that the tunnels came up that he and Browndapple weren't even aware of, since they had been low-ranking when in the Alliance.

It turned out that this Clan meeting had nothing to do with the Alliance at all, though. Rubblepaw noticed that Darkstep and Fishpaw were sitting at the base of the stump. Fishpaw's dark green eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and he fidgeted slightly, moving his paws back and forth and sheathing and unsheathing his claws.

"Fishpaw, you've been an apprentice for a good amount of time now," Strikestar mewed, his mew containing an almost forced ring of pride to it. "You've proved your capabilities as a hunter and as a fighter. It's time that we make you a warrior."

Rubblepaw suppressed a sigh. He didn't like Fishpaw, but he should be glad for his fellow apprentice- even though that fellow apprentice was about to become a warrior. Still, Fishpaw was irresponsible. It had been only a few weeks ago that the brash silver tom had endangered not only his own life, but the lives of Darkstep and Rubblepaw, by staying in the tunnel and trying to fight a group of cats from the Alliance despite being severely outnumbered. It had led to Rubblepaw being nearly killed, being captured by Mist, and only narrowly escaping.

Sure, Fishpaw's actions had ultimately led to Rubblepaw bringing back Rustleleaf and Browndapple, thus getting RogueClan two new members, but that was due to their own decision to leave the Alliance, just as Rubblepaw's survival had been due to Mist's demand for her cats to spare him. Of course, it had been a while since that incident, and it would be easy to argue that Fishpaw had changed since then, but somehow Rubblepaw doubted it.

"Fishpaw, do you promise to serve RogueClan and fight against our enemies to the bets of your abilities, even at the cost of your life?" Strikestar was asking.

"Sure, I'll fight for the Clan!" Fishpaw's eyes glinted in a way that might have looked menacing had he not been barely eight-and-a-half moons old. "I'd do anything for you, Strikestar."

Strikestar looked almost surprised by the apprentice's declaration of loyalty, and Rubblepaw admittedly couldn't blame him. But the leader blinked proudly at the young cat, regaining his composition in an instant so that the glimmer of surprise would only be visible to the most observant cats.

"Then by my authority as leader, I grant you your warrior name." Strikestar paused, as though he were stopping to think of an appropriate name. "Fishpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Fishleap. We all honour your determination and fighting spirit."

"Fishleap! Fishleap!" everyone cheered. Rubblepaw put his dislike for the silver cat aside and joined in politely.

"Thank you, Strikestar," Fishleap said earnestly. He nodded respectively to Darkstep. "Thank you, too, Darkstep. You were an awesome mentor."

Rubblepaw was surprised to hear the young tom being so courteous. Maybe he really had changed for the better after all.

"As a new warrior, you'll have to sit vigil tonight," Strikestar told him. "…Or you would, but it's been pretty cold lately, so maybe you can observe your vigil tomorrow night instead."

That didn't seem right to Rubblepaw. Surely observing Clan traditions was more important than making sure Fishleap wasn't too cold. Then again, Strikestar didn't even believe in spirit-cats, so RogueClan wasn't exactly a normal Clan anyway.

"So, I'd guess you want to get back to learning how to track now," Honeypool purred to Rubblepaw once the cats had dispersed.

"Yeah, kind of," he agreed.

"Let's go back to the training area, then." Honeypool angled her ears toward the place they'd been training earlier.

Rubblepaw nodded. On their way across the camp, Fishleap came up to them, blocking them off by standing in their way.

"…Well?" he said innocently, batting his eyes.

"Well, what?" Rubblepaw asked impatiently; he didn't have time for this. Beside him, Honeypool flicked her tail irritably.

"Well, aren't you going to congratulate me?" Fishleap asked; Rubblepaw couldn't tell whether he was just toying with him, or if he actually expected congratulations. "You haven't congratulated me on becoming a warrior yet."

"Good job, Fishleap," Honeypool said through grated teeth. "I'm really proud of you."

"I wasn't talking to _you_ ," he scoffed. "Well, Rubblepaw? You still haven't responded."

If Fishleap was trying to provoke him, it wouldn't work.

"Congratulations on becoming a warrior." Rubblepaw spoke slowly, concealing the rage burning in his throat. "You must have done well on your assessment."

"Oh, I did well, all right." Fishleap laughed quietly, flexing his claws. "But I'm not a mouse-brain. I know Strikestar would've made me a warrior even if I failed my assessment. We're weak, you know. Strikestar's afraid we'll all be killed by the Alliance, so he made me a warrior ahead of time just so we'd have more of 'em."

It took Rubblepaw by surprise that Fishleap was being so up-front about the matter. He'd always pegged him as arrogant, so admitting that his performance on the assessment hadn't really mattered in the long run was unexpected.

"Can you please step aside now?" Honeypool asked wearily.

Fishleap nodded. He stepped back, letting Rubblepaw and Honeypool pass.

"That's a very interesting cat, all right," Honeypool commented. "Even back when I was a kit he got on my nerves. Dewpaw used to say he was going to grow up to betray the Clan."

Rubblepaw hoped Dewpaw had been wrong.


	20. Chapter 20

Branches whipped wildly in the wind, and even the sturdiest of trees were creaking. Freezing rain mixed with hail pelted down from the cloudy sky, and a layer of mist covered the ground. The crisp white snow was both melting and freezing at the same time, leaving sheets of ice everywhere. The wind was blowing snow around all over the place, although none was falling, and drifts of it had formed up against trees.

The weather had come on suddenly while Rubblepaw had been on a border patrol with Squirreltail and Bearpelt. The three cats had been in a good mood when heading out, but by the time they'd reached the border the sky was clouding over and it was starting to drizzle. They'd been on their way back to camp when the hail had started coming down, but they were still far away from it to not want to run all the way back in such low visibility.

And so, Rubblepaw was watching the freezing rain and hail falling in sheets while the wind whipped the snow around from the shelter of a large and ancient black spruce tree. The trunk of this tree split into two partway up, so it provided extra coverage. Still, it wasn't exactly ideal protection from the elements.

"I still say we should just tough it out and head back," Squirreltail was grumbling. "A little rain never hurt any cat."

"No, but hail could," Bearpelt pointed out nervously. "Besides, just look at it! On top of the mist, there's also snow flying around. We'd barely be able to see two tail-lengths in front of us!"

Squirreltail nodded reluctantly. It was plain to see that waiting it out was the only option. Even so, Rubblepaw guessed that their Clanmates would be worried about them. The sooner this freak storm passed, the better.

But it didn't pass soon. Time crept slowly by as the icy rain and hail beat down. Squirreltail paced anxiously, his dark fluffy tail lashing. The ginger tom's tail had been a source of entertainment for Yellowkit and Daisykit on more than one occasion; they'd bat at it like it was a piece of moss, much to his annoyance. Eventually, Frostglaze had had to put his paw down and tell his kits to leave the poor cat alone.

Several minutes passed while the winds raged on. The combination of hail and freezing rain merged into sleet, with the occasional chunk of hard ice mixed in. The trees kept creaking, and Rubblepaw was nervous that the one they were using as shelter would fall on them, but it never did. Still, every time he heard a creak his fur stood on end. At least a couple of trees did fall though- Rubblepaw heard a loud crack and then a thud two or three times fairly close by, and then he could have sworn he'd heard another one farther away.

Just when Rubblepaw was beginning to wonder if the storm was ever going to let up, thunder boomed somewhere in the distance- as if this wasn't scary enough already. After a few more minutes, Bearpelt curled up and fell asleep. Rubblepaw had no idea how any cat could sleep under these conditions, but Squirreltail followed suit shortly after. Now Rubblepaw was the only cat awake.

He wished Honeypool was with him, but she had stayed behind in camp. Since tensions were so high involving the Alliance, Strikestar had suggested that patrols be kept smaller, so more warriors could be guarding the camp at any given time.

Eventually, Rubblepaw got so bored that he decided to lie down and see if he could fall asleep too. He lowered his head onto his paws. Wait. What was that noise? He pressed his ear to the ground. There seemed to be a steady series of crunching sounds that were getting progressively louder. Some cat was walking up the hill!

Well, sleeping was clearly out of the question now. Rubblepaw sprang to his paws and squinted through the mist and sleet, trying to see who was approaching. He could just make out two shapes at the bottom of the hill- one larger and one smaller.

"Who are you?!" he called down to them. "What do you want?"

There was no reply. Rubblepaw opened his mouth to taste the air, but he couldn't detect any cat scent. It was probably there, but the wind must have been whipping it away before it could reach him.

Then Rubblepaw noticed the jingling sound. It was faint, but it was there. It sounded like the tags on a twoleg collar hitting each other. The cat who was approaching them must have been a kittypet, then.

The first cat came into view, snow swirling around them and mist floating around their paws as they crested the hill- a white tom with brown tabby markings. He wore a brightly coloured collar that was fang-studded; he was from the Alliance. He also had a V-marked ear and a missing eye- just like Rubblepaw and Strikestar. But this cat's eye definitely seemed to have been lost in a fight. In fact, most of his face was covered in scars. Scars covered the rest of his body as well. This cat was clearly no stranger to fights.

Why was this cat here? What did they want?

A second cat appeared beside the tabby. Rubblepaw gasped when he recognized them- it was the white-and-gray she-cat with the pink collar who'd remained in a tree while a battle took place below her!

"What do you say, Arrow?" Her voice was just as light yet threatening as Rubblepaw remembered it."Should we kill them all?"

"No matter what happens, we cannot kill the gray one, remember?" the tabby said gruffly. "I know _you_ don't care about the fate of the true royal family- in fact, you want us to fail so that you may rule. But I for one want my kit back!"

"You're too soft, Arrow," she purred. "Well, you may as well make an example of those other two, then. Maybe that'll scare him into joining us."

In a few quick, nimble bounds, Arrow was standing barely a mouse-length away from Rubblepaw. He slunk back, terrified.

"Be glad I happened to choose Mist as my mate," Arrow growled. "Were you not our lost heir, I'd kill you, too."

Suddenly what Arrow was saying clicked with Rubblepaw. This cat was his _father_?! So then he must be Mist's mate. But what about the cat with him? Was she related to Rubblepaw too, or did she just happen to be along for the ride?

Well, he'd have to figure that out later. Right now, Rubblepaw had to make sure that his Clanmates were safe. Bearpelt and Squirreltail were still sleeping, but they'd be easy enough to wake up. Rubblepaw ran over to Squirreltail first, gently shaking him. The ginger tom tried to roll back over, but then his eyes widened. He must have seen Arrow.

"Whether they're awake or asleep, it makes no difference," the mysterious she-cat from before called. "Arrow is the king of the Alliance. He could kill everyone here if it suited him."

As if to demonstrate, Arrow flexed his claws. His muscles rippled under his short fur. Fear crept up Rubblepaw's spine, but he swallowed it back down, putting on a brave face and standing his ground.

Arrow kept walking right toward him.

 _He won't kill me. He needs me to go be the prince of the Alliance._

 _Besides, I'm his son._

And yet the gleam in Arrow's amber eyes scared Rubblepaw. He flinched, ducking away. Arrow walked right past him and up to Squirreltail, who was now awake and trying to get Bearpelt awake too. The brown tom was a heavy sleeper, which Emberfur complained about sometimes, but he blinked awake quickly and sprang to his paws, looking ready to fight.

And yet Arrow still kept walking toward them, his fangs glinting. He hadn't laid a paw on any of them yet, but there was something naturally terrifying about his whole demeanor. Rubblepaw backed away, shaking. He wanted to stand and fight, but he couldn't. He was too scared.

Arrow raised his paw, claws glinting in the air. Rubblepaw flinched even though he knew that those claws wouldn't be brought down on him. Instead, they simple swiped harmlessly through the air.

"This cat is just toying with us," Squirreltail hissed. "We have him outnumbered; let's teach him a lesson!"

Bearpelt nodded, although he looked slightly less confident.

"Well, if you're going to fight, then fight," Arrow meowed, sounding almost disappointed. "It's no fun killing cats when they don't do anything. Where's the challenge? Even a weak little mouse will try to run away when I chase it."

"I'm not prey," Squirreltail hissed. He sprang at Arrow, whose face lit up.

"That's more like it!" the Alliance king purred throatily. He reared up on his hind legs and came down on top of Squirreltail, pinning him down.

Bearpelt attacked Arrow while he was busy with Squirreltail, biting down on his flank. Arrow reached out and hooked his claws into Bearpelt's exposed underbelly. Rubblepaw flinched when he saw that. Then Arrow swung his paw through the air and let go, ripping Bearpelt's stomach open. He flew through the air and hade to a skidding stop on the ground. After that he lay still, blood pooling around him.

Rubblepaw felt bile rise in his throat. Was Bearpelt dead?! He wanted to rush over to the fallen warrior, but his paws were rooted to the ground. He couldn't move.

Squirreltail writhed beneath Arrow's formidable paws as the white tabby raked his claws down his spine. His red fur was matted with blood. Rubblepaw had to help. He put one shaking paw in front on the other, moving toward the two battling cats. Arrow glanced up, letting go of Squirreltail, who instantly ran over to Bearpelt. Rubblepaw watched with bated breath for any sign as to whether he was still alive or not. To his relief, Squirreltail glanced up at Rubblepaw and gave a tiny nod- _yes, he's alive… for now._

"You didn't think I'd really kill your friends, did you?" Arrow asked, stretching his face into a fang-bared grin. "My little Rubble is such a good boy. He loves his friends, doesn't he?"

Rubblepaw was taken aback and a bit scared by this new persona. When he'd addressed the gray-and-white cat, Arrow had seemed like a normal, albeit Alliance cat who cared about his son. In battle, he'd just seemed like a killing machine. And now, facing Rubblepaw with bloodstains on his fangs and claws, he seemed… unsettling, above all else. It was almost as if Arrow had multiple personalities.

"I don't care whether you kill all my Clanmates or promote them all to rulers of the Alliance. No matter what you do, I won't join you." Rubblepaw forced himself to seem more defiant than he felt. His paws were shaking. He forced them to stay still.

"In that case, maybe I should kill all your Clanmates, since you say you don't mind." Arrow must have seen Rubblepaw's horrified expression, because he laughed. "I'm just kidding, mouse-brain! I know as well as any cat that you'd never join us if we hurt your friends."

"I won't join you no matter what you do," Rubblepaw repeated, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to make it not do so. "B-but it's still a good choice on your part to let them live. If anything happens to any RogueClan cat, Strikestar will personally see to it that you die."

Arrow's ears pricked. He stared intently at Rubblepaw.

"Who is Strikestar?"

Rubblepaw swallowed. He'd forgotten that the Alliance didn't know that Strikestar was still alive. The only Alliance cat who knew was Dusty, who had long ago recovered from being hit by a monster but was being kept in the RogueClan camp under constant surveillance to prevent him giving away that very information to his higher-ups. All that work would be for nothing if Rubblepaw gave away his brother's identity now.

"Strikestar is the leader of RogueClan."

"What does he look like?"

Rubblepaw thought fast. If he gave Arrow an entirely made-up description, would he know he was lying? Had Arrow been one of the Alliance cats who had attacked RogueClan while Rubblepaw and Honeypool had been out? Had he seen Strikestar? Rubblepaw guessed that he hadn't. What description could he use? He was no good at lying like this…

Suddenly, Rubblepaw got an idea.

"Strikestar isn't a 'he'." It was a crazy strategy, and it could put another cat Rubblepaw cared about in danger, but it was all Rubblepaw could think of. "She's a honey-coloured she-cat who's a few moons older than me. She has green eyes and longer fur on her tail than on the rest of her body."

Arrow's single, gleaming amber eye lit up.

"Thank you very much, Rubble," he said slowly. "That's all I need to know."

He turned to the gray-and-white she-cat, who hadn't moved at all since her last exchange with Arrow. Her light blue-gray eyes flashed and she narrowed them.

"You should have killed those other cats," she muttered to Arrow. "It's no fun watching you let them survive. Even for your precious little prince, it's not worth it."

"If that's what you think," Arrow mewed, "then you and I are two very different cats, my lady."


	21. Chapter 21

Rubblepaw stared, blinking, at the spot where Arrow had just stood. The white-and-brown tabby had vanished into the veil of mist along with his gray-and-white companion, leaving Rubblepaw, Squirreltail, and Bearpelt, who was somehow still alive but definitely near death.

"Can we help him?!" Rubblepaw asked worriedly.

"I don't know; I'm not Frostglaze." Squirreltail's brow furrowed. "Do you see any cobwebs lying around?"

Rubblepaw did see some cobwebs. In fact, they were in the very tree they were crouched under. Of course, they were high up amongst the branches, but Rubblepaw could make it. He hooked his claws into the soft black spruce bark and began to climb. Needles poked his fur as he reached the cobwebs. Bearpelt was bleeding pretty badly, so he'd need a lot of them. Clinging to the trunk with three paws, he reached out with one to snag as much as the cobweb as he could. Rubblepaw became unbalanced, and for one terrifying second he thought he was about to fall onto the frozen ground below, but he managed to re-secure himself, and climbed safely down.

"Here are the cobwebs." He handed them to Squirreltail, who pressed them into Bearpelt's wounds.

"Are there any other herbs that should be used for infections?" Rubblepaw wondered, trying to remember. "Oh, that's right! We should make a poultice!"

"Could we use spruce needles?"

"I don't know."

"Well, we might as well try."

Squirreltail stood on his hind legs so he could reach a low-hanging branch. He tore off part of the branch and laid it over top of the gash in Bearpelt's stomach. Rubblepaw doubted that it would be very effective, but he tried to help by piling on some clean snow. Then he stepped back, watching for any sign that their efforts were working. The bleeding had been stopped, but Bearpelt had lost so much blood already. Could he really live after all that?

"Well, there's nothing more we can do," Squirreltail sighed. "Let's carry him back to camp. Maybe Frostglaze can help him in a way that we don't know about."

Rubblepaw nodded. The sleet was finally beginning to give way to a simple light rain, and although mist still hung over the forest floor, the visibility had improved a lot. By the time they'd made it back to camp, the weather had cleared up altogether, and the sun was peeking through the parting clouds.

When they walked through the camp entrance, Strikestar was pacing around the camp. When he saw Rubblepaw and Squirreltail, his gaze lit up. But when he saw Bearpelt, his face was darkened with worry.

"What happened?" he asked.

"We took shelter from the storm beneath a tree when we were attacked by the Alliance," Squirreltail explained. "There was a white tom with a brown tabby pattern who had scars like you and Rubblepaw here, and a gray-and-white she-cat."

Strikestar's ears pricked.

"That sounds like Arrow," he muttered, a low growl rising up from his throat.

"That's what he said his name was," Rubblepaw confirmed. "Apparently he's our father."

"He may be related to us through blood, but he is not our kin." Strikestar looked angry now, as he always did when discussing the Alliance. "The same goes for Mist. It doesn't matter whether an Alliance cat is your mother, father, brother, sister, or former best friend. They are the enemy, and you must never trust them!"

"What's all this commotion about?" Frostglaze poked his head out of his workspace. "Oh dear! What happened to Bearpelt? Wait- tell me later. First I need to take care of him."

While he dealt with that, Rubblepaw turned back to Strikestar. Now was the perfect time to ask him about that dream.

"Strikestar, when you left the Alliance…" Rubblepaw hesitated. What if his brother got mad at him for asking? No. It was his right to know the truth. "What was the first thing you did?"

"Well, the first thing I did was cross the thunderpath." Strikestar purred, but it sounded forced. He clearly wasn't actually in a joking mood. "A-and after that, I walked through the woods for a while. I had to carry you for quite a while. Eventually you got so heavy that I dropped you."

Rubblepaw stared his brother down, unimpressed. He wanted the truth this time, and he wanted to make it clear that that was what he wanted.

"That's right," he mewed. "You did drop me. But I don't think it was because I was too heavy to carry. If that was the case, why wouldn't you have just set me down right where you were rather than going out of your way to walk over to the marsh?"

"This whole forest is marshy during greenleaf," Strikestar protested, although there was a certain deep fear in his eye. He knew that Rubblepaw knew about what he'd done. "I made sure you were okay. If I wanted you dead, why are you still alive?"

"Boss rescued me!"

"Who is Boss?!"

"He's just one out of many cats who cared about me more than you ever did!" Rubblepaw spat, his ears flat and his pelt bristling. Strikestar's body language matched his perfectly, but it seemed like a different kind of anger- like the anger you feel when you know you did something wrong and you hate that you did it, and you hate that now you'll have to face the consequences.

"I do care about you," Strikestar insisted. "If I hadn't, I'd have left you behind under _their_ care."

"At least Mist makes sure I stay alive," Rubblepaw argued. He realized that Mist only did so because she wanted him to be her heir, and might not care about his wellbeing at all if she knew that Strikestar was alive as well, but he didn't care. "At least she never tried to drown me!"

Rubblepaw stood, glaring at Strikestar. He expected him to make a rebuttal, but instead, the gray tabby leader was silent. His gaze became less sharp, and he began to back away slowly. Rubblepaw hadn't expected Strikestar to break down so quickly. Well, maybe he wasn't breaking down so much as dropping his defense.

"They would have found us eventually. They would have discovered us and brought us back to the Alliance with them. Carrying you slowed me down too much and you weren't who they were really after anyway." Words tumbled out of Strikestar's mouth, their tone starting out as apologetic but transitioning into something… almost accusing. "You were born to be a prince. I was born to be a king. I was named Striker because they wanted me to strike down my opponents. You were named Rubble because you were all that would be left after the fall of a civilization. At least that's what Mist used to tell us. She loved you more than she ever loved me. If you were dead, maybe they would have just left me alone. You got Mist's love. I didn't. And for that, I hated you."

Rubblepaw took a step back, stunned. Their Clanmates had gathered around them to watch the intense exchange, and eyes burned into Rubblepaw's pelt from all directions as his paws gave out and he dropped to the ground. Strikestar had tried to kill him; he'd already known that. But surely there had been a good reason. He'd been forced to. He'd had no other choice. It had somehow been for his own good.

But no.

Strikestar had hated Rubblepaw because Mist had only paid attention to her younger kit, ignoring her older one. Mist, who Strikestar hated with a passion, was what had driven him to try to drown his younger brother. Jealousy over the mother he despised was what drove Strikestar to attempted murder.

"I-I have to go," Rubblepaw mumbled. "I have to go. I have to go do something."

He scrambled to his paws and started walking quickly in a random direction. He almost tripped over his paws a she walked, but he hardly even noticed. All he could think about were Strikestar's words.

 _I hated you_.

He had used the past tense, so he must not hate him anymore, right? Blood roared in Rubblepaw's ears. Maybe Strikestar did still hate him. Maybe he was planning to kill him any day now. It was insane, but Rubblepaw had already experienced so much insanity that it didn't seem too far-fetched at this point.

"Rubblepaw, wait."

It was Honeypool. Her voice was filled with concern. Rubblepaw stopped for a moment, but he decided to ignore her. He kept walking.

But Honeypool didn't give up easily. She ran around in front of him, and when he tried to walk around her, she moved along with him so he couldn't get around. Rubblepaw kept his gaze fixed on the ground. The snow had once been so fresh and flat, but now it was covered with pawprints. Nothing ever stayed perfect.

"Rubblepaw, look at me," Honeypool mewed, her voice gentle but firm. "I'm not going to be that she-cat who begs and pleads for a tom to not do something and get in his way while doing so, only to give up and let him do it anyway. But I am going to be the cat who cares about her friend."

"'Friend'?" Rubblepaw muttered. "What makes you think I even want you to be my _friend_?"

"Oh, don't be such a…" She sighed. "Rubblepaw, you are my apprentice. I am your mentor. So I'm telling you as your mentor to look at me and talk to me."

Rubblepaw reluctantly obeyed. He lifted his head and gazed into Honeypool's glittering eyes. She was so lovely. But this didn't involve her. It was between Strikestar and him.

"This is about me and Strikestar, not you," he told her.

"Strikestar is my leader as well as yours," Honeypool pointed out. "I've known him for even longer than you have, in fact. And I thought I knew him pretty well up until you showed up. When Strikestar found you, he changed. He became a lot more emotional, but he also became a lot more confident. He does care about you now, you know. In fact, you should be proud of him for finally getting up the nerve to tell you the truth. It's a horrible truth, and he's ashamed of it. He hated you then, but e doesn't hate you now. Rubblepaw, your brother only wants you to forgive him."

Rubblepaw sighed. She was right. He turned his head to see that Strikestar was still standing in the same spot, staring at Rubblepaw, his eye filled with regret.

"Strikestar…" Rubblepaw began. Then he stopped. "No. You know what? No. I don't care if you're sorry; you still tried to drown me- when I was just a kit! I didn't even do anything wrong. It's not my fault that Mist loved me. Any decent mother would love her kit!"

Shock flashed in Strikestar's eye, followed by hurt, followed by rage.

"Mist was not a decent mother!" he snarled. "She's a psycho! She hates me, Rubblepaw. And don't tell me I'm just saying that, because she told me! She told me, at six moons old, that my new little brother was so much sweeter than I was, and how much she wished that he was the eldest instead of me. She said it would be wonderful if Rubble was the heir instead of me. That's the same as saying she wants me to die! So the joke's on her, I thought, because her precious little prince Rubble is going to die instead!"

"Oh, good, you're finally being honest," Rubblepaw snarled.

"When have I ever been dishonest?"

"You lie all the time! You never tell me what's really going on!" Rubblepaw yelled, rage welling up from deep inside of him. "You left me in the dark about being my brother, you didn't tell me about Mist or Arrow or the Alliance until I asked. And even then you danced around the question. You avoided giving me the answers I needed. And most importantly, you did all this with the knowledge that I was the cat you'd tried to drown as a kit!"

"Could you two please stop fighting?!" Honeypool cried. "You're behaving like a couple of ravens fighting over a piece of crowfood!"

"That's what I am to you, isn't it, Strikestar? Crowfood?" Rubblepaw said accusingly. He wasn't even sure if he believed what he was saying anymore. All he knew was that he couldn't forgive Strikestar- not now, not ever. "You'd rather I not exist at all. Would you have even left the Alliance at all if Mist had loved you?!"

"Of course I still would have left! I hate Mist!"

"You said you hated me, too!"

"Well, maybe if you hadn't been my brother I wouldn't have had to hate you," Strikestar shot back.

Without saying another word, he turned, tail lashing, and padded over to his den. He went inside and didn't come out for the rest of the day.

Rubblepaw wondered who had won the argument. He supposed that neither of them had. If anything, they'd both lost.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Uwahh, I accidentally made another really long chapter! In fact, since we're kind of at the big dramatic climax now, the next few chapters will probably be pretty long. It's surprising how easy it is to get caught up in describing cats fighting each other.**

 _The sounds of birds twittering filled the sky. Wildflowers bobbed up and down beneath the clear, blue sky. It was a beautiful and serene greenleaf day. Surely nothing bad could ever happen on such a lovely day._

 _"Fer gosh sakes, Rogue, quit staring at the sky." Boss' deep purr sounded next to Rogue. "Come on, let's catch something to eat. I reckon there must be a whole lotta tasty lil' creatures scampering about in this here meadow."_

 _Rogue nodded happily. It sure was a nice day out, though. He wanted to appreciate it fully without being distracted._

 _"Y'know, Rogue, you could pick out a proper name for yourself if ya ever wanted," Boss remarked as they crouched side by side in the flowery meadow, waiting for prey. "I mean, how's about if you didn't want to keep on being a rogue? You'd hafta git yourself another name in that case."_

 _"But I don't have any other name," Rogue mewed._

 _"Well, that's the odd thing about you, ain't it?" Boss chuckled. "A kit shows up looking half-drowned and missing an eye. What kinda name does one give a cat like that? Well, you've still got them scars of yours, boy, but you're hardly a kit anymore. I'd reckon you could almost call yerself a respectable young tomcat."_

 _Not a kit? That was silly. Rogue was only four moons old. But in Boss' time, he guessed that kits had to grow up a lot faster, and take care of themselves right from the get-go. It sure was good that Rogue had Boss to look after him._

 _"Say, Rogue, are you sure you don't recall anything at all regarding how you wound up like you did?" Boss asked, not for the first time._

 _"I don't know how I got to be like this," Rogue answered. "I guess I just ended up that way."_

Rubblepaw stared up at the sky, a faraway look in his eye. Things sure had changed.

Now he knew exactly how he had ended up the way Boss had found him. He didn't understand why, but he knew how. Or at least, he knew the "why" of the why but didn't understand the "how" of the why. It was confusing to even think of.

Well, laying on his back daydreaming didn't fill any bellies, as Boss might have said. Rubblepaw got up and wandered over to Honeypool, who was talking to Specklestone. They looked very relaxed, so it must not have been a private conversation. There was no need to worry.

"Can you take me out hunting?" he asked.

"Hunting?!" Honeypool blinked at him in surprise. "Rubblepaw, I just took you hunting an hour ago. Why don't you just relax and share tongues with some cat? The fresh-kill pile is bigger than it's been in weeks. There's no need to hunt right now."

"I was relaxing, but…" Rubblepaw shifted his paws, wondering how to explain it to Honeypool. "It wasn't productive."

"That's the point of relaxing, mouse-brain." Honeypool's whiskers twitched with amusement, and her ear flicked forward as well. "It's not supposed to be productive. It's supposed to be a chance to unwind and feel good for a minute before you have to get back to work."

"Well, I'm ready to get back to work now," Rubblepaw told her.

Honeypool and Specklestone exchanged a glance.

"Rubblepaw, sweetie, why don't you sit down with us for a while?" Specklestone offered. "Honeypool was just telling me about how she's been thinking about getting a mate…"

"Mother! Don't tell him that," Honeypool objected, her pelt fluffed up with embarrassment. "Look, I wasn't even thinking about any particular cat, okay? It's just that, well, every cat thinks about it at some point…"

"That's true," Specklestone agreed. "But you know, not every cat has to have a mate. Besides, you're much too young to be seriously considering settling down with any cat, anyway," she added chidingly.

"Well, Emberfur has a mate," Honeypool pointed out.

"Emberfur is a few seasons older than you."

Most young toms probably would have felt uncomfortable hearing two she-cats talking about mates and stuff, but Rubblepaw was intrigued. He was also a bit jealous. It wasn't an aggressive sort of jealousy, but it was there, poking at the back of his mind, whenever he saw Honeypool with Specklestone and Squirreltail, or Bearpelt and Emberfur congratulating Fishleap on a good catch, or Frostglaze playing games with Yellowkit and Daisykit.

Rubblepaw hadn't known his parents for most of his life. He'd always assumed he was an orphan, or that he'd been abandoned. In fact, most of the time the mere notion of having kin at all had seemed foreign to him. But now he knew that both of his parents were alive, and they missed him very much. And that just made it worse, because they were the enemy of RogueClan, and by extension, Rubblepaw.

Just as Rubblepaw was about to walk away, and maybe do something else instead- like finally finish fixing his nest- Rustleleaf and Browndapple tore into camp, Darkstep at their heels. The three cats had been out on a border patrol, and Rubblepaw hadn't been expecting them to come back for a few more minutes. But as soon as he saw the looks of panic and terror on their faces, he knew that something had gone wrong.

"The Alliance is about to attack RogueClan!" Browndapple cried.

Rubblepaw froze. It had been so long since the first time they'd attacked the camp that he'd almost forgotten about the possibility that they could do it again. What would they do?!

"What do you mean, 'about to attack'?" Strikestar demanded, ducking out from his den, his eye narrowed.

"We were almost at the border when we heard angry yowls," Rustleleaf explained, panting- they must have run all the way back to camp. "When we crept up to take a look across the thunderpath, we could see them having some sort of rally. Then they all started chanting a battle cry… 'Reclaim the heir; destroy the rogues!' We were terrified already. Then they started moving around. A lot of them went into the tunnels; a few more crossed the thunderpath."

"By that point, we were already running back to warn you," Browndapple finished. "We got back as fast as we could, but they're well on their way. I don't know how much time is left before they attack."

Fear spiked in Rubblepaw's belly. What would Strikestar do?! What would any of them do, for that matter?

"A-are you sure they're coming to attack us?" Strikestar asked, glancing around nervously. "I mean, could you have been mistaken?"

"Of course we're not mistaken," Darkstep meowed impatiently. "Now hurry up and prepare everyone for battle!"

Strikestar looked frazzled, but he reached the stump in the centre of the clearing in a few quick strides and stood atop it, calling out to the Clan in an urgent yowl.

"Everyone, prepare to defend the Clan!" he cried. "The Alliance is coming to attack us!"

Shocked murmurs broke out.

"What?!"

"The Alliance is attacking?!"

"Why now of all times?!"

"I know it's sudden, but we have to try to keep calm," Strikestar went on, although he sounded far from calm himself. "Here's what we'll do: I'll stay here and guard the camp with Honeypool, Darkstep, Rustleleaf, Specklestone, and Squirreltail. Frostglaze, keep your kits in your medicine den with Bearpelt. Guard that den at all costs! Emberfur, Browndapple, Fishleap, and Rubblepaw, I want you to go intercept the Alliance before they reach the camp. Delay them as much as possible, but don't make it a suicide mission. Rubblepaw, you may have to pretend to offer yourselves up to them, but don't do it for real."

Rubblepaw nodded, swallowing hard. Browndapple was already pointing Emberfur and Fishleap in the direction that the Alliance was coming in from. Rubblepaw followed them, matching his pace to Fishleap's. Neither of the young toms could quite keep up with the two older warriors, but they didn't have to run very far anyway. Yowls were audible through the bushes almost as soon as they exited the camp, growing rapidly in volume. Rubblepaw scrambled over a log and pushed through a clump of dead ferns, slipping and skittering on the ice and pushing through deep patches of snow. After cresting a small hill, he could see them.

Alliance cats were rolling toward them in waves, claws and fangs bared. Rubblepaw scanned the crowd and could count at least thirty cats. He shivered to think that there were even more below him in the tunnels- in fact, there could be Alliance cats right under his paws right now for all he knew.

 _Concentrate on the enemy in front of you._ Rubblepaw stared straight ahead, closing in on the mass of yowling cats. _Don't think about how outnumbered you are. It'll only distract you from what you need to do._

The two groups of cats connected. Emberfur immediately tackled and smoky gray tom to the ground, giving him a solid swipe to the nose and kicking him in the stomach as she spun around to run her claws down a dark brown she-cat's cheek. Browndapple sank her claws into a short-furred black tom who Rubblepaw recognized as Jet, one of the cats who he'd had a run-in with before, while Fishleap nipped at a calico. Rubblepaw took a deep breath and darted between the legs of a yellow tom, where he rolled onto his back and raked his claws down his underbelly. The tom screeched, batting Rubblepaw out from under him. Rubblepaw bit the yellow tom's leg and twisted until he heard a snapping noise followed shortly by a wail. Bile rose in his throat, but he pushed it down. Any Alliance cat deserved a broken bone or two.

"Hey, you little piece of mouse dung, get away from Dandy!" a blue-gray she-cat hissed. She tackled Rubblepaw to the ground, where he struggled beneath her, biting down hard on her paw. She shrieked and let go of him.

Another cat threw themselves at Rubblepaw. He dodged and raked his claws down their flank. Then another cat picked him up by the scruff and started shaking him back and forth in his mouth. Rubblepaw struck his hind legs out behind him, feeling one paw connect with his attacker's chin. He was dropped. Then two cats attacked him at once, rearing up on their hind legs. Rubblepaw darted around behind one cat and slammed into her, knocking her down and sending her crashing into her partner.

Eventually, the mob of Alliance cats began to feel less like a huge group of cats and more like a single entity, striking out at Rubblepaw again and again as he drove them back, sending a scarce few running away, but only keeping most down for a second before they got back up and attacked him again. Every so often he'd be overpowered by one of them, and one of his Clanmates would come to his aid. It seemed like a miracle that he was still alive.

The only problem was that all of the Alliance cats were still alive too. Rubblepaw wasn't strong enough to actually compromise his opponents; all he could do was retaliate each time one of them attacked him, only to have them seek him out again, this time with a vengeance. Sure, a couple of Alliance cats had dropped away from the scene, such as the yellow tom whose leg Rubblepaw had broken, and his mate, whose paw wasn't in good shape to be fighting with. But if a cat clawed Rubblepaw, Rubblepaw would simply claw them back and turn to the next cat.

That was the problem with fighting when you were outnumbered: you had to choose between doing a lot of damage to one opponent or doing barely any damage to a lot of opponents.

And sometimes it didn't even matter which one you chose.

A bright ginger she-cat put her paw down on Rubblepaw's tail while he was driving back a mangy brown tom. Pain shot through Rubblepaw and he lost his balance for a second. The brown tom and the ginger she-cat both loomed over him, their fangs gleaming. The brown tom struck first, digging his claws into Rubblepaw's sides and biting down on his shoulder. Then the ginger she-cat raked her claws down his cheek and the side of his neck.

Rubblepaw knocked away the brown tom and nipped at the ginger she-cat's throat. She backed away long enough for him to get up, arch his back, and hiss. To his surprise, it was enough to frighten them both away. But by that point a sandy tabby tom was already sneaking up behind him, ready to strike.

As Rubblepaw fought off the tabby, he heard a voice crying out.

"Heeeelp!" It was Fishleap. Rubblepaw was surprised to hear the young warrior's voice raised so high and so obviously filled with panic. "Somebody help meee!"

Rubblepaw pushed his way through the throng of angry cats to find Fishleap pinned to the ground by a muscular white she-cat. Her paws pressed his legs to the ground, and her fangs edged dangerously close to his throat.

"Get off of him!" Rubblepaw hissed, knocking the she-cat's muzzle away from Fishleap's neck with a powerful swipe.

She retaliated, snapping her jaws closed around his paw before he could draw it away and tugging on it. Thinking fast, Rubblepaw unsheathed his claws and tried t scratch up the inside of her mouth. Sure enough, she dropped his paw quickly enough and ran off, blood trickling from her lips.

"Thank you," Fishleap mewed breathlessly, still lying on his back.

Rubblepaw nodded politely to him, but there was no time to chat. A band of five cats were closing in on them, all of them cats that Rubblepaw recognized from the time he'd gone into the tunnels.

"We can take these guys, right, Fishleap?" Rubblepaw glanced at the silver tom, hoping to hear him reply with something brash or snarky.

But Fishleap didn't say anything. Rubblepaw glanced back at him again, worried. He was still lying on the ground. Rubblepaw half-expected to see blood pooling at his throat, but Fishleap was fine- physically, at least.

"Get to your paws!" Rubblepaw snapped.

Fishleap complied, but his eyes looked hollow. The band of Alliance cats was upon them. Rubblepaw lashed out at a black-and-white tom, while Fishleap wrestled a young cream-coloured she-cat to the ground. Two more cats started batting at Rubblepaw, but he scratched both of their muzzles and they backed away.

A light brown tabby she-cat bit down on Rubblepaw's flank. He suppressed a yowl of pain and twisted around, running his claws down her back. He did the same to a dappled tom while Fishleap darted in and out, nipping at his legs.

"We make a good team," Rubblepaw observed, surprised.

"Maybe it's just because I'm so naturally talented," Fishleap joked. "You can't go wrong when you've got me on-"

He broke off. Rubblepaw wasn't sure why until he felt another cat's fur brush up against his back. He spun around to see Jack, the other tom who'd attacked the patrol along with Jet, reared up on his hind legs, a block of ice clamped in his jaws.

Rubblepaw rolled away as Jack brought the ice down. But the ice shattered, sending shards flying everywhere. A few of them hit Rubblepaw. That hurt quite a bit. He heard Fishleap make a kind of choking gasp and glanced up to see that a shard of ice had flown into his eye.

While Rubblepaw was looking at Fishleap, Jack brought the ice down again. This time, it connected with the back of Rubblepaw's head. He heard Fishleap cry out, and felt himself falling as the world began to swirl around him, the edges of his vision becoming tinged with red before fading to black.


	23. Chapter 23

When Rubblepaw woke up, his head was throbbing. He was lying on his side with his good eye facing down, so when he opened it all he could see was snow at first- snow and blood. He moaned, struggling to lift his head. When he saw his surroundings, his heart skipped a beat. There were injured cats everywhere! Most of them were still moving around, but a few were lying completely still. Rubblepaw wondered if they were dead; he wasn't close enough to tell.

Where were his Clanmates? He looked around but could only see Alliance cats. He raised himself to his shaking paws and stood, his ears ringing from being hit on the head.

"F-Fishleap?" he called tentatively. "Emberfur? Browndapple?"

"Your RogueClan friends aren't here anymore, kid." Rubblepaw blinked, surprised to see a golden tabby tom sitting up and facing him as though they were allies rather than enemies. "After you blacked out, those two she-cats and the little silver tom tried to get away. The tom and one of the she-cats made it out, but the tortoiseshell got captured."

"Emberfur was captured?!" Alarmed, Rubblepaw leaned in closer to the golden tabby, needing to hear more. "Who captured her? Where did they take her?"

"Trixie knocked her out and dragged her back to the hideout she and Coal set up together," the strangely friendly Alliance cat explained. "Two of their kits have already died, so she's pretty desperate to keep the other one fed. I wouldn't put it past Trixie to kill your friend and feed 'em to her kit."

There was something deeply disturbing about how casually the golden tabby spoke about such horrifying things. If that was how bad things could get in the Alliance, Rubblepaw knew why Strikestar despised it so much. Any half-decent cat would gladly starve before resorting to cannibalism. The mere thought of it made Rubblepaw feel sick.

"I have to help her," he decided. "Can you lead me to their hideout?"

"Sure," the golden tabby agreed. "My name's Ray, by the way. What's yours?"

Rubblepaw wondered if Ray was trustworthy. He was clearly in the Alliance, but he had agreed to help Rubblepaw. Well, just to be sure that Ray didn't make the connection between Rubblepaw and Rubble, the lost prince, maybe he could give him his old name instead.

"My name is Rogue," Rubblepaw mewed, adding, "But if you're with the Alliance, why are you helping me?"

"Just because I'm loyal to Mist doesn't mean I'm as corrupted as Trixie and Coal," Ray snorted. "The way I see it, the only reason cats like them exist is because they're too loyal. If it got to the point that Mist was not only neglecting me, but actively working toward my demise, I'd do the wise thing and leave. Maybe I'd even join you like Rustle and Brownie did. Don't count on it, though."

"I won't," said Rubblepaw.

After hearing Ray proclaim his loyalty to Mist, Rubblepaw felt uneasy following him alone through the forest. His head still ached from Jack hitting him with the block of ice, but it was a dull sort of ache now. The blood on his head was dried, matting his fur. It sure was good that Jack hadn't hit him a bit harder, or his skull could have been smashed.

 _It wasn't, though_ , Rubblepaw reminded himself. _I've gotta focus on the positives._

"Trixie and Coal's hideout is right under this mound of snow," Ray meowed, nodding to a large pile of snow. Rubblepaw could see branches poking out from underneath. "Now, I may not agree with these cats, but I can't betray the Alliance, so you've gotta go in there alone. Good luck, Rogue."

"Thanks, Ray." Rubblepaw nodded respectfully to him before lowering his head and charging into the mound of snow.

The snow gave way around him and he was inside a little structure made up of branches, like a beaver dam. Inside, there were two nests. When Rubblepaw padded closer to them, a mewing sound began to come from one of the nests. There was a tiny, pathetically scrawny kit inside, its shiny black fur matted and dirty. Rubblepaw felt a wave of sympathy for the kit. It was obviously starving. But he wasn't here to help a kit; he was here to help Emberfur.

There was a boulder on the ground that rolled away when Rubblepaw pushed it to reveal a tunnel entrance. He padded cautiously inside, keeping an eye out for danger. He could hear muffled voices coming from up ahead. He recognized Emberfur's defiant mew, followed by a loud hiss. Emberfur wailed and a deep, booming voice laughed, echoing through the tunnel.

Rubblepaw picked up his pace. He came to a small cavern, where a black-and-white she-cat and a dark gray tom who he guessed were Trixie and Coal, respectively, were standing over a terrified Emberfur. Blood welled at her cheeks and dripped from her eyelids, and the end of her tail looked like it had been chewed on. Rubblepaw crept up on Trixie and Coal, keeping himself pressed low to the ground. When he was close enough, he sprung, yowling angrily.

He sank his claws into Coal's back. The black Alliance tom twisted around, snapping at him with formidable jaws. Trixie grabbed Rubblepaw's head in her paws and pushed at it; she was trying to break his neck. Rubblepaw hissed at her, fluffing up his fur. Then Coal shook his body and Rubblepaw slipped off, tumbling to the ground. Trixie pounced on him but let him go for a second only to trap him again, like he was a mouse she was toying with before killing.

Emberfur looked on, eyes wide. She slowly got to her paws and stood, looking unsure of what to do. Rubblepaw considered telling her to run away while he held back Coal and Trixie, but he knew that would be impractical. If she fought alongside him, they'd have a better chance of winning.

Emberfur seemed to understand this, as she lunged at Trixie, tackling her to the ground and subduing her with a few powerful swipes. Then she turned to Coal, who was backing away, fear apparent in his eyes. Rubblepaw realized that these cats weren't used to fighting one-on-one. Maybe they weren't even used to fighting fairly at all.

Rubblepaw gave Coal a good scratch on the nose and he ran away. Trixie got to her paws and started to move toward Rubblepaw, but then stopped and exchanged a glance with Coal. The two cats slunk away, withdrawing into the shadows.

"I wasn't expecting them to give up so quickly," Rubblepaw remarked.

"I may or may not have told them that RogueClan would come rescue me," Emberfur purred. "And I may or may not have overexaggerated its strength and numbers, too. They didn't believe me at first, of course, but when you showed up I guess they thought I'd been telling the truth all along."

It sounded like a strategy that Rubblepaw might want to use sometime- if he ever got captured, that is, which he wasn't planning on doing.

"How did you know to come here?" Emberfur enquired as they headed back up through the tunnel.

"An Alliance cat named Ray told me what happened to you. He showed me where they'd taken you. He was surprisingly friendly, but he was still on their side, so I can't count on him to help out again."

They decided to head back to camp to see what the situation was there. They skirted around the place where several injured Alliance cats still remained, but when they passed by Rubblepaw could see them through the trees. It looked like most of them were sitting or standing up now, tending to their wounds to the best of their abilities. He felt a surge of pride that he and three of his Clanmates had been able to do that much damage on their own.

Once they got close to the camp, Rubblepaw could hear yowls ringing through the air. Eventually, a group of eight or nine Alliance cats came into view. They all looked very young- the oldest was perhaps around Honeypool's age- and they were all crowding around the entrance to the camp. The row of saplings that had at one point formed a tunnel had been pushed down so that they blocked off the entrance, and these cats must have been having trouble getting over it.

"Let's sneak around these guys," Emberfur whispered. Rubblepaw nodded; it was best to avoid confrontation whenever possible. "We can get in through the dirtplace tunnel."

Once they'd gotten in, it didn't take much more than a quick look around to determine that RogueClan was in even bigger trouble than Rubblepaw had thought. Alliance cats were everywhere, and they were wreaking havoc. Tree branches were being torn off and claw marks were being scratched into the bark. The ladder for Rubblepaw's tree had been knocked over and broken apart, and a couple of cats were up in it, their eye gleaming down at him. In fact, there were cats hiding in a lot of the trees. Symbols had been etched into the snow, and right in the centre of the camp, there was Mist. She perched on the tree stump that Strikestar stood on to address the Clan. Arrow sat on the ground beside her.

The snowbank that Frostglaze worked in had been partially driven to the ground, but there was still a good-sized heap of snow there. Rubblepaw crouched behind it, his ears pressed back, terrified of the rampage going on around him.

Suddenly, a paw shot out from inside the snow pile. Claws hooked into Rubblepaw's front leg, and he mewed indignantly. The paw dropped away, and Strikestar poked his head out from under the snow.

"Oh, good, it's you." The leader sounded relieved, but still terrified. "Quick, hide under here with us. Oh, and Emberfur's with you, too! That's great. We were worried we'd lost you."

Rubblepaw ducked under the heap of snow and into the little alcove. Emberfur followed him a few seconds later. Inside the alcove were Strikestar, Rustleleaf, Squirreltail, Specklestone, and Frostglaze, his kits, and the still-recuperating Bearpelt. Frostglaze's herb supply had been scattered all around and ripped up, and Bearpelt's wounds had been reopened. Yellowkit and Daisykit hid under Frostglaze, their little tails curled around his paws.

"Do you know what happened to Browndapple?" Rustleleaf asked, eyes wide with concern for his mate. "And Fishleap, too- why is it only you two?"

"Browndapple and Fishleap were on their way back to camp, weren't they?" Emberfur asked, sounding confused. "Are you sure they didn't make it back?"

"Say, where's Honeypool?" Rubblepaw asked, looking around. "I don't see Darkstep, either. What happened to them?"

The cats exchanged a solemn glance.

"Honeypool was worried about you, so she went to look for you," Strikestar explained. "We sent Darkstep out after her, but she hasn't come back. We have to assume the Alliance found them."

"You can't just assume that!" Rubblepaw objected. "We have to go out there and find her!"

He turned around to leave the alcove, but Strikestar slammed his paw down on his tail. Pain shot through Rubblepaw and he turned back to Strikestar, angry.

"I have to go find her!" he hissed. "Don't try to stop me!"

"That's what she said when she went to look for you," Specklestone said darkly. "We're just as upset as you are, Rubblepaw, but in times like this we have to put our own survival first."

It wasn't right, but Rubblepaw knew better than to complain. He crouched down next to his Clanmates and waited until it was safe to leave.

But the Alliance wasn't showing any signs of wanting to leave. Yowls still filled the camp after almost an hour's time.

At one point, snow began to shower down on Rubblepaw, and he felt paws thudding on the snow above him. He squeezed his eye shut, trying to ignore it. But the snow kept showering down, and then it began falling in chunks.

Then the snow pile collapsed, sending snow crashing down around Rubblepaw. Shrieks filled the small alcove as it collapsed, snow raining down on the cats inside. The shrieks quickly became muffled and then cut off entirely.

Rubblepaw struggled to breathe, and snow filled in his ears and covered his eye. Now he couldn't see or hear, and the snow was so heavy that he couldn't move. Now he and the others were effectively trapped for the time being- well, they had more or less been trapped the whole time, but now they were physically trapped as well. Panic started to fill Rubblepaw's chest at he tried to breathe but couldn't. He writhed about desperately, and managed to break his head out of the snow. He then pulled the rest of his body out and shook himself off.

"Is everyone okay?" he called softly.

There were no replies. Rubblepaw stepped cautiously over the collapsed mound of snow, worried about the cats inside. He noticed movement to his left, and a moment later Frostglaze broke out of the snow. His kits dangled from his jaws by their scruffs and Bearpelt was draped over his back. Rubblepaw realized that he should appreciate Frostglaze more; the cat managed to be both a medicine cat, a warrior when necessary, and a father, and he did all three well. Rubblepaw could never pull off so many tasks with such skill.

One by one, the others clambered out of the snow, coughing and shaking out their pelts. Rubblepaw let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding; everyone was alright.

No, that wasn't right- everyone who'd been hiding in the medicine den was alright. Browndapple, Fishleap, Darkstep and Honeypool were still all unaccounted for. And now even the cats who Rubblepaw knew for sure were okay had no place to hide.

"Well, would you look at that?" an Alliance cat sneered. "The RogueClan losers have finally come out to fight!"

Rubblepaw would have run away right then and there. But Strikestar stood his ground, defiance flashing in his eye.

"If you want to harm my Clan, you'll have to kill me first," the leader snarled.

The cat who'd spoken grinned, his fangs glinting. A group of cats gathered around him, their fangs bared as well.

"Oh, I think we can manage that."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Wow, it's been longer than I'd meant since I posted a chapter! It's because I joined the biking team at my school. (Plus, I've been busy writing something else that isn't Warriors-related). But I should still be able to do chapters regularly, so don't worry!**

Strikestar leapt into action as Rubblepaw watched, terrified. Alliance cats circled around him and his Clanmates, watching them closely with gleaming eyes. Nobody could move, or else the circling cats would strike. Strikestar grabbed a slender Alliance cat by the neck and threw him down. Then he pushed past two muscular cats that stood in his way and ran to the stump in the centre of the clearing. His gaze was fixed on Mist.

But Mist's gaze was fixed on something else. A scruffy yellow she-cat was dragging something across the camp, a blue-gray tom following her with something dangling from his jaws. Strikestar stopped, taking a step back. Rubblepaw couldn't see what the cats were carrying, so he stood on his hind legs, only to wish that he hadn't.

The yellow she-cat let go of what she'd been dragging and prodded at it with a paw. The limp dappled body rolled over, making an imprint in the snow. Blood ran down their dark brown fur in streaks. They blue-gray tom dropped what he'd been carrying, too, and a pile of bloody silver fell to the ground.

Rubblepaw swallowed hard, trying to force his fur to lie flat but unable to do so. Beside him, he heard Emberfur curse under her breath. Rustleleaf sprang to his paws and opened his mouth to shout out in anger, but Frostglaze clamped a paw over his muzzle. Reluctance showing in his eyes, Rustleleaf sat back down, although he kept staring at the two Alliance cats.

"Look at what we brought you, queen Mist," the tom giggled. "We found them trying to get back here. Those silly cats! Why would they want to be here? This is Alliance territory now."

"It's our present to you, queen Mist," the she-cat added eagerly. "You deserve it for being such a wonderful leader to us all the time..."

Mist sniffed and turned her nose away.

"What would I want with those horrible RogueClan cats?" she huffed. "The only one I'm interested in is my son. And no, Navy, before you ask… the little one is not the light-gray tom I was talking about. My son is a tabby! And he has scars like king Arrow! How many times must I tell you that?!"

Navy blinked sheepishly at Mist, who continued, looking disdainfully at the cats before her.

"And as for you, Buttercup, you need to get it in your head that you shouldn't go dragging things across the ground like that! If it's too heavy for you to carry in your mouth, drape it over your back- or just don't kill it in the first place!"

Buttercup looked away, flicking her tail irritably.

"But we didn't kill them," Navy mewed. "At least, I don't think they're dead…"

"I know that little one is alive, at least," Buttercup sighed. "He was squirming like crazy most of the way back here. He only stopped when I went over that log."

"Well, who cares if they're dead or alive?" Mist hissed. "Get them out of my sight!"

They nodded, dragging the fallen cats away.

It was only then that Mist slowly turned. Her gaze fell on Strikestar and she took a few tentative steps toward him, her breath forming white clouds in the frosty air.

"You're not Rubble," she mewed in disbelief. Then her eyes narrowed. "You're Striker, aren't you?! And here I thought you were dead. Then again, I suppose if your brother is alive it only makes sense. Still, I must admit I'd hoped I'd never have to look at that face of yours ever again."

A deep growl rose from Strikestar's throat. He stalked toward Mist, hackles raised. Rubblepaw looked on with the rest of his Clanmates. Mist's gaze swept over them, and Rubblepaw instinctively ducked.

"That's quite the nice little group of rogues, strays, and loners you're gathered up there," Mist purred coldly. "Rogues, loners, and defects from the Alliance. That's all that little Clan of yours really is. Why don't you just disband it now? It will save the lives of all the cats crouching in the snow over there; if you continue to resist us, they will all surely die."

"I'd rather die than join you," Strikestar hissed. "And I know in my heart that all the cats behind me feel the same way. That's because I trust them. You can't trust your 'Alliance'. Half the cats under your command only joined because they had no choice. That's why you keep them away from you- so they won't kill you while you're not looking."

Mist flinched and took a step back. Satisfaction flashed in Strikestar's eye, but Mist regained her composure and stood before him with the regal look that would be expected from a true queen.

"If you're so sure you'd rather die than join me, I suppose you'll just have to go ahead and die," she sniffed. "Arrow, dearest, take care of those pathetic RogueClan cats, would you?"

Arrow nodded. He marched over to the collapsed mound of snow. Rubblepaw expected Strikestar to stand in his way, but the leader simply stepped aside. He cast an apologetic and defeated look to his terrified Clan, his ears flattened and his tail drooping. Then, while all eyes were on Arrow, he turned a sprinted to the edge of camp. Rubblepaw realized that he wasn't leaving his Clan to die after all- in fact, he was doing the opposite. Strikestar was going to go after Navy and Buttercup to see if Browndapple and Fishleap were okay!

Rubblepaw knew that Strikestar wouldn't really betray RogueClan like that, but the fact was that Arrow was still advancing toward them. No cat was making any effort to move; they all knew that the first to try to flee would be the first that Arrow would go after. Rubblepaw gulped. Maybe if he served as a distraction, his Clanmates could get away… but there were still Alliance cats everywhere. It would be pointless. Rubblepaw squeezed his eye shut as Arrow bore down upon them, preparing to feel a burst of pain at any moment.

There were no claws or fangs digging into Rubblepaw, but a yowl of terror rang out and Rubblepaw realized he was the one who'd yowled. He forced himself to look up at Arrow, who to his surprise had made no move to touch any cat yet and was simply standing there, looking bemused.

"Well, aren't you going to fight back?" he purred. "If you truly consider yourselves warriors, you should be prepared to battle your enemies, not hide from them."

No cat answered. Rubblepaw thought it was odd how Arrow would take a moment to laugh at the fear of his opponents rather than simply attack them. Why drag things out? Shouldn't Arrow want no cat to put up a fight so his job would be easier?

"If you won't stand up and fight me, I'll just have to show you I'm not playing around," Arrow growled. His one-eyed gaze settled on Frostglaze, who had tucked his kits under his paws, and was pressing cobwebs onto Bearpelt's reopened wound. "You look like you've got your paws full there- literally! Maybe I should do you a favour and take off some of that load for you."

The white-and-brown tabby pushed past Rubblepaw, who skittered aside nervously and watched as Arrow lifted a massive paw over Frostglaze's head. Unflinching, Frostglaze pushed his kits behind him and swiped at Arrow, hissing.

Arrow brought his paw down on Frostglaze, knocking him aside. Rubblepaw gasped, but there was no blood dripping from the top of the white tom's head; Arrow's claws had been sheathed. However, they were unsheathed and glistening in the cold but glaring leaf-bare sunshine as he raked them down Bearpelt's side, running them along the gash that was already enough of a problem. The half-conscious cat writhed in agony, letting out an ear-piercing wail. Arrow laughed and dug his claws in deeper.

Frostglaze got to his paws and jumped onto Arrow's back. Arrow tried to shake him off, his attention diverted from Bearpelt, who half-walked, half-dragged himself away. Emberfur rushed to his side and began licking her mate's wound, trying to stop the blood.

As Arrow struggled with Frostglaze, more Alliance cats began to approach the huddled bunch of RogueClan cats. One of them nipped at Squirreltail's bushy tail, and Specklestone moved to attack them, but Squirreltail held her back, saying, "It's not worth it". Rubblepaw noticed Rustleleaf glancing around and shifting his paws apprehensively.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm going to beat the dirt out of those Alliance cats," Rustleleaf snarled.

Rubblepaw blinked at him in alarm.

"I don't think you should do that," he mewed. "You're too outnumbered. Besides, Browndapple might still be alive…"

"Don't you see? It doesn't matter whether she's dead or alive right now." The pale ginger tom lashed his tail, his eyes dilated. "As long as you're here, we're all going to end up dead sooner or later. But I know you'd never go back to them, and I'm not asking you to. All I want is for our deaths to be honourable! That's why I'm going to fight them."

Without waiting for response, Rustleleaf leapt, snarling, at a black-and-white Alliance tom and wrestled him to the ground. The Alliance cat flipped him over and pinned him to the ground. Rustleleaf slashed at the tom's belly, and then rolled out from beneath him. Rubblepaw wanted to help, but at the same time, he wanted to believe that they could survive this. The Alliance threat was scary, but if every cat decided death was inevitable, what would the point of living be? It was important to think that you could win, so Rubblepaw wasn't going to do anything reckless just yet.

Meanwhile, two she-cats and a tom were ganging up on Emberfur, who was standing over Bearpelt protectively, swiping and hissing at any cat who approached her mate. Squirreltail and Specklestone were standing back-to back on their hind legs, batting away Alliance cats when they drew near. Frostglaze had curled up around his kits like a nursery queen while Arrow repetitively bit and scratched at him. Yellowkit squirmed out from his father's soft white fur and bit down on Arrow's paw. Horror flashing in his eyes, Frostglaze reached out and grabbed Yellowkit, placing him back beside his sister, safe from Arrow's attacks.

Well, if every cat was fighting, Rubblepaw had to do his part too. He poked his head out from behind a snowdrift, where he had crouched, hoping no cat would see him. A silver tabby she-cat spotted him and was upon him in a flash, snapping at his tail as he spun around and began to run around, crashing into Alliance cats here and there and hoping none of them would catch him.

Of course, they caught him. It was just like the time he'd been chased down in the tunnel, but this time Mist was making no effort to save him. In fact, she didn't even seem to be paying attention. A paw slammed down on Rubblepaw's tail and pain shot through him. He scrambled to get away but another paw landed further up his tail. He turned around and scratched the nose of the cat who was stepping on his tail, but the cat made no move to let him go. More cats circled around him, and Rubblepaw ducked his head in fear.

He heard snow crunching around his head, but kept himself pressed to the ground. Then claws hooked into Rubblepaw's scruff and jerked his head up. Rubblepaw found himself staring into the face of a cat he recognized- Mothpaw.

"Hi, Rubblepaw. Do you remember me?" Mothpaw purred. "I saw you hanging out with my brother back in that little scrap on the field. Are you two friends now or what?"

"Mothpaw, you do care about what happens to your brother, right?" Rubblepaw asked, hoping to get a reaction. "Or do you not care whether he lives or dies?"

To Rubblepaw's surprise, Mothpaw actually flipped his over and placed his claws a whisker-length from Rubblepaw's throat. Anger flashed in his amber eyes.

"Of course I care about Fishpaw," he snarled. "I love my brother more than anything. But if he's part of RogueClan, and RogueClan is the enemy of the Alliance, then it's not my fault if he dies. But if he does die, it will be by the paw of one of my colleagues- not by me."

Rubblepaw blinked. He hadn't expected such a genuine response.

"A-actually, Fishpaw is Fishleap now. He got his warrior name earlier than usual," Rubblepaw explained, for lack of anything else to say.

Mothpaw nodded proudly.

"In that case, I guess I should change my name too," he mused. "Maybe I can call myself… Mothstripe? That was what I hoped my warrior name would be before I left the Clan."

"It sounds good to me."

"Hey, you slacker, what are you doing conversing with the enemy?!" A harsh voice cut through their conversation. "If you won't finish him off, I will!"

It was the silver she-cat who had been the first to start chasing Rubblepaw. She pushed past Mothpaw- or Mothstripe, or whatever his name was now- and faced Rubblepaw, her fangs bared.

"Queen Mist may want you to live just because you're the prince, but now that we know prince Striker is alive, we don't need you anymore," she hissed. "I always liked Striker anyway. I don't care what Mist thinks; he will make a fine king."

The silver tabby leaned forward, her fangs pressing against Rubblepaw's neck fur. He scrabbled at the snow, but the other Alliance cats that had gathered around him pinned him down. The fangs punctured his skin just as a shocked yowl rang out nearby. There was a flash of blood, and then silver met silver. The fangs were knocked away from Rubblepaw's neck a second before they would have pierced his throat and he sat up to see the silver tabby she-cat lying on the ground, her eyes glazed over. Standing over her was none other than Fishleap, the shard of ice still embedded in his now blinded left eye but his face one of triumph and confidence.

"You're alive," Rubblepaw breathed.

"Of course I'm alive," Fishleap snorted. "Did you really think some random Alliance cats were gonna kill me? Browndapple's okay too, although she got off a bit worse than me. One of her-"

He was cut off as a massive white paw reached out and grabbed him from behind. It was Arrow! Rubblepaw rushed to help, but he found that he didn't need to. Mothstripe darted forward and bit down on Arrow's hind leg, causing him to lose his balance for a moment. In that time, Mothstripe jumped up and grabbed his brother, who se face seemed to be going through several different emotions at once.

"It's you- you saved me- but you're- I mean…" Fishleap sputtered.

Mothstripe didn't say anything. He nodded to Rubblepaw and then vanished into the forest.

Rubblepaw turned to the shaken-up Fishleap, a question pressing on his mind.

"Do you know if Honeypool is okay?!"

"I didn't see her," Fishleap admitted. "I saw Darkstep wandering around calling for her, though. But I couldn't talk to her since it was when those Alliance cats were dragging me back here and Browndapple and I had to play dead. I have no idea if Darkstep got back to camp okay or not, and I don't have a clue about Honeypool."

Rubblepaw sighed. He'd suspected as much.

"Well, there's only one thing I can do, in that case." He stood up, shaking out his pelt as best he could. "I'm going to go find her."

Fishleap began to protest, but Rubblepaw ignored him. Honeypool's safety was the most important thing to him, and if going out into an Alliance-filled woods to track her down, that's what he would do.


	25. Chapter 25

Rubblepaw's paws pounded against the forest floor, sending a spray of slushy snow in his wake. In the bare patches where the snow had melted away, black spruce needles felt soft under his pads. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, alert and on the lookout for any Alliance cats that could have been lingering around. Where was Honeypool?!

A thousand scenarios played through his mind- things that could have happened to her. She could have been caught by the Alliance: captured; tortured; killed on the spot… dragged by Coal and Trixie back to their hidden den and fed to their kit. She could have run into a fox, or a badger, or… even if bears should be hibernating, they could wake up early. It wasn't likely, but what if? She could have stumbled into the Alliance camp by mistake… or been hit by a monster while running across the thunderpath. She could have slipped on the ice; fallen out of a tree; had a tree fall on her…

Rubblepaw knew he was being paranoid. But as long as he didn't know that Honeypool was safe, he couldn't help but be paranoid. If Strikestar hadn't been there in the camp to hold him back, he would have run off looking for Honeypool the moment he learned she was missing. But if Fishleap hadn't seen her either, and Darkstep apparently hadn't been able to track her down, then the possibility that Honeypool was in danger seemed a lot more plausible, and Rubblepaw had to go look for her.

A cracking noise sounded above Rubblepaw. He skidded to a halt and looked up, his fur spiking when he saw a branch half-torn and slowly splitting from the trunk of a maple tree. To his shock and confusion, there was a screeching ball of fluff clutching it. Rubblepaw could hardly believe it when he noticed a miniature black collar with fangs jutting out around the neck of the tiny white kitten. This kit couldn't have been any older than Yellowkit and Daisykit, but it was part of the Alliance?!

A wail sounded from a spruce tree next to the one with the splitting branch. A downy gray she-cat was crouching in the branches. She leaped from branch to branch like a squirrel, reaching for the kit. Rubblepaw knew he had to keep searching for Honeypool, but something inside him needed to see how this played out. The gray she-cat jumped just short of her kit, but her weight made the branch buckle and rip off the trunk entirely. Rubblepaw watched as she hopped off the branch, holding the kit in her mouth. Flailing, she crashed to the ground, wincing. Her paw was bent at an odd angle, but her kit was safe.

"A-are you okay?" Rubblepaw asked.

The Alliance she-cat glanced up in alarm. Holding her kit protectively, she scooted back, terror flashing in her eyes.

"You're one of those awful RogueClan cats," she whimpered. "Are you going to hurt me?"

Rubblepaw blinked.

"No, I won't hurt you," he whispered. "If you don't hurt me, I won't hurt you. You won't hurt me, will you?"

She shook her head. Silently, she picked up her kit and ran off. Rubblepaw stared after her, confused. Why had a tiny kit been up in a tree like that? Surely the Alliance didn't force kits to join their ranks and serve alongside adult cats. And from the downy cat's reaction, he guessed that she had the idea that RogueClan were the aggressive ones. Mist really must keep the lower-ranking cats in the dark.

Well, that fascinating little encounter may have been eye-opening, but it was just a delay. He had to go find Honeypool. Rubblepaw took off again, sniffing the air and checking for pawprints.

The wind shifted, and Rubblepaw picked up a faint trace of Honeypool's familiar scent. He sighed with relief, although he knew it was premature. The scent was several minutes old. He followed the scent and the trail of pawprints in the snow, coming up to a little frozen stream. Water ran beneath the ice, visible in places where the ice covering it had melted away. The scent trail stopped there. Rubblepaw looked down at the pawprints in front of him. They continued on the other side of the stream, with drops of mud sprinkled around them. Honeypool must have disguised her scent by rolling in mud to throw off a pursuer.

Rubblepaw hopped over the stream and continued following the trail of prints. Up ahead, he saw a smudge of red on the snow and dread settled in his belly. He ran up to a bramble patch, where drops of blood splatter lay around it. A tuft of honey-coloured fur was snagged on the brambles. The pawprints continued on, but splayed apart and uneven. Rubblepaw trotted along, concern growing in him.

Finally, he came to a tree. The trail of prints stopped there. Rubblepaw wondered for a moment if Honeypool had climbed up the tree, but then he heard a soft whimpering coming from below the tree and he noticed the roots were raised. He ducked between a gap in the roots, wrinkling his nose at the heavy stench of crowfood. He hadn't been expecting to smell rotting meat under a random tree. But when he padded forward, he realized that the ground was sloping. This must have been another tunnel entrance! The whimpering noise he'd heard echoed through the empty tunnel, amplifying until Rubblepaw reached a small chamber.

The chamber was dark and shadowy, but there was an opening overhead that cast just enough light for Rubblepaw to see Honeypool crouched in the corner, shaking.

"Hey." Rubblepaw padded closer, brushing past a plant and stepping over an odd lump on the chamber ground. "Are you feeling all right?"

Honeypool slowly lifted her head, her eyes vacant. Her fur was matted in bloodstained clumps, and her nose was glistening. What was she doing down here, and what had happened to her to get her so… like this?

"Honeypool, it's okay," Rubblepaw whispered coaxingly. "It's me- Rubblepaw. What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Rubblepaw…" Honeypool's mew was coarse. "What are you doing here?"

"I came looking for you."

"Well, you shouldn't have," she hissed, backing away. "You shouldn't want anything to do with me."

"What do you mean?" Rubblepaw asked. "There's nothing you could do that would make me stop liking you."

She faced him, her eyes wide and hollow with anguish. She slowly padded out from the shadows, and Rubblepaw noticed how wet her paws were. They were covered with bloodstains.

"I can't wash it off," she whispered. "I've licked and licked my paws, but the blood scent won't come off."

"If you killed some Alliance cat, no cat will hold it against you," Rubblepaw promised; he suspected that was what was troubling her. "A warrior shouldn't kill unless they have no choice, but in the heat of battle, you're not to blame if that's what you did. Besides, the Alliance isn't a Clan. They don't have such rules, so-"

Honeypool cut him off with a hiss. She bared her fangs, which glistened with blood just like her paws.

"You don't understand," she spat. "They were so young. None of them could have been older than you. One of them was a gray tabby tom who looked so much like you… I swear I thought he was you for a second. Even when I saw he had both eyes, I couldn't reverse the connection in my mind. It makes no difference who a cat is, Rubblepaw, don't you see? This pointless battle will destroy us all. And I won't play a part in it."

Rubblepaw regarded his friend sadly. He had never killed another cat before. And he guessed that Honeypool hadn't either before today. He rested his muzzle on her head comfortingly, but she turned her head away. Rubblepaw backed off.

"Come back to camp," he whispered. "They don't know if you're dead or alive. Darkstep went out looking for you. You have to come back with me so Strikestar and the others will know you're all right."

"I know that Darkstep went looking for me," Honeypool murmured. "She saw me standing over the body of a cat who couldn't have been more than six moons old. She stared at me with a question in her eyes. She was asking me, 'Honeypool, did you kill these cats?' And I knew the answer was yes and when I took off running I knew she knew the answer too. She didn't follow after me."

"Well, Darkstep may not have gone after you, but I will," Rubblepaw proclaimed. "Even if you try to avoid me, I'll make sure you get back to camp safely. You don't have to face Strikestar and the others if you don't want to. You don't have to tell them what you did. But you have to come back to camp, Honeypool. You're my mentor and my friend, and I don't care what you did to those young Alliance cats, because you're still a good cat. You need to believe that you're still a good cat."

Honeypool's eyes watered.

"Thank you, Rubblepaw," she sighed. "I really mean it. Thank you so much for saying that. I just wish I could believe you…"

Honeypool closed her eyes for a few seconds, her jaw moving as though she were chewing something. Then she took a few staggering steps forward and collapsed, her legs giving out. She sprawled on the ground, her paws twitching and her breath coming in ragged gasps. Rubblepaw was about to ask what was wrong when he saw the bright red pulp inside her mouth. He gasped. Sure enough, there was a pile of red berries on the ground next to her. Overhead, the sun shone down between parting clouds, casting the cavern in light to reveal the source of the crowfood stench. There were many, many bodies of dead cats in the chamber. Most of them were no more than skeletons, but some looked like they'd only been dead for a matter of weeks, perhaps days. Piles of shriveled red berries were everywhere, and a large plant that they grew from sat near the centre. Rubblepaw had thought it was just a random shrub at first.

This was a place where cats came to kill themselves. Rubblepaw realized that now. But as disgusting as it was to look at the countless remains piled inside the dirt cavern, it was one of those things that Rubblepaw couldn't peel his eye from. And he noticed that they all had fang-studded collars.

"Honeypool, why did you do that?!" Rubblepaw cried. "C-come on, spit out those berries right away!"

Honeypool groaned, fluid leaking from the corner of her mouth. Rubblepaw's heart leapt in panic. This couldn't be happening! He pried open her jaws and smacked the back of her head, trying to force her to cough up the berries. The ones she'd chewed up slid out of her mouth, but she kept spasming, her breath slowing. Desperately, Rubblepaw tried to remember what kind of herbs made cats throw up. He knew that he'd eaten some poisonous twoleg food that he'd found on the walking trail once, and Boss had used an herb to make him sick. What had it been?!

Was it... yarrow? Yes, that was definitely it. But what had it looked like? Struggling to remember, Rubblepaw scrambled up the side of the chamber and pushed himself up through the gap in the roof. There was a clump of dead plants by a tree… would dead plants work? He doubted it. One of the plants looked like it could be yarrow. He grabbed a bundle and hopped back down into the chamber. He stuffed the dried-out stalks into Honeypool's mouth.

Nothing happened. Rubblepaw forced the stalks down her throat and she began to gag, coughing up a bit of berry pulp. Encouraged, Rubblepaw went to get some more. He brought it back and tried to get Honeypool to swallow it.

But it wasn't working. The plants themselves weren't doing anything. Rubblepaw didn't even know whether they were actually yarrow or not. Sure, sticking them down Honeypool's throat may have activated her gag reflex, causing her to spit up some of the berries, but it wasn't good enough. Her spasms were giving way to stillness, and her pulse was fluttering. Rubblepaw smacked her on the back. There had to be something he could do! It was too late to go back to camp now. It would take too long. By the time he got there she'd already be gone.

Suddenly he heard a sickly crunching sound coming from behind him. He turned to see a familiar yellow-pelted tom, the bones of a long-dead cat crumbling beneath his paw.

"Ray?!" Rubblepaw stared at the Alliance tom in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"That's not important right now," he huffed. "Your little lady there needs this."

He dropped a bundle of herbs at Rubblepaw's paws, seeming unbothered by the corpses surrounding him. Rubblepaw stared at the herbs, unsure whether to trust Ray, who had already made his loyalty to the Alliance perfectly clear.

"Well, hurry up and feed them to her!" Ray grunted. "What've you got to lose?!"

He was right. Rubblepaw stuffed the herbs inside Honeypool's mouth, forcing her to swallow. Within moments she began convulsing. Rubblepaw looked away, grossed out but also glad to hear the sounds of her being sick. It meant that the herbs had worked.

After a few seconds, he heard Honeypool mew weakly, "It's okay, Rubblepaw, you can look now. I'm done vomiting... heh." To his surprise, she started to laugh. "I guess that was a kind of dumb move, wasn't it?"

Relief washed over Rubblepaw, but it was followed by outrage. He stood over Honeypool, who was still lying on her side, a puddle of vomit next to her head. In it were the pulpy remains of the red berries she'd eaten.

"You mean trying to kill yourself? Yeah, I'd say that was a pretty dumb move, all right." Rubblepaw felt guilty for a second when he saw Honeypool's expression of shame, but then he remembered what she'd just done and knew without a doubt that his anger was justified. "Why didn't you listen to what I was telling you, Honeypool? So you killed some Alliance cats. So what? If you're really a warrior, you shouldn't be afraid to get your paws dirty. Sure, peace is the best way to handle things, but if you think that you deserve to die for what you did, you're wrong. It won't solve anything. It will only make things worse for the rest of us!"

Honeypool looked away. She didn't make any move to rise to her paws.

"Well?!" Rubblepaw demanded, a fire burning behind his words. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry," Honeypool muttered numbly. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry you had to see that, Rubblepaw. I promise it will never happen again."

Rubblepaw nodded to Ray thankfully. But Ray had already left.

"C'mon, Honeypool, get to your paws," Rubblepaw mewed, his voice cracking. "It's time we get back to camp. Strikestar will be worried about me, and I know your parents will be worried half to death about you- Emberfur too. I know I was."

They walked back through the woods, Honeypool keeping her gaze fixed on the ground. Rubblepaw kept his straight ahead. They had to look out for any potential dangers.


	26. Chapter 26

A cool breeze blew through the ruined camp, ruffling Rubblepaw's fur. He shivered, casting a sad glance up at the sky. The moon was in its first-quarter phase, and the stars were twinkling idly overhead, shining on as though everything was normal. It wasn't.

He had trudged into camp with Honeypool that afternoon to find that things hadn't improved in the camp. In fact, the RogueClan camp was now entirely devoid of RogueClan cats. He and Honeypool had wandered around, staying out of the way of the Alliance, until they came across a scent trail that led to a hole on a hill beneath the roots of the tree. This was where their Clanmates had been staying after having snuck out of camp, knowing that if they stayed the Alliance would keep on attacking them.

Rubblepaw had wanted Frostglaze to take a look at Honeypool to check if she had any poison left in her system, but he already had his paws full. Fishleap had mentioned that Browndapple had gotten off a bit worse than him, and now Rubblepaw knew what he meant: the dappled she-cat's left front leg had been mangled beyond repair, with the paw and part of the lower leg and ankle having been chewed off entirely. She wouldn't be able to use that leg again.

No cat had gotten to eat that evening, but nobody wanted anything anyway, especially not Rubblepaw. Appetites weren't something it was common to have after seeing one Clanmate lose an eye, another lose part of a leg, and your mentor try to kill herself.

It was amazingly awful how just one day could make things take such a drastic change for the worse. Rubblepaw could barely even remember the cheerful conversation Honeypool and Specklestone had been having that morning, less than twenty hours ago but seeming like it had been seasons ago. Now Specklestone and Squirreltail were curled up protectively on either side of Honeypool, grooming her fur and whispering with trembling, angry but frightened mews.

"How could you do that to yourself?" Squirreltail muttered. "Do you realize how close you came to dying?"

"I know," was all Honeypool said.

"Well, why did you do it?" It had to have been at least the tenth time he'd asked that night.

Honeypool didn't reply.

"Sweetie, you have to think about other cats," Specklestone murmured. "Can you even imagine what we would have gone through? Your father and I had a hard enough time when Dewpaw died. We don't want to lose out other daughter too."

Rubblepaw couldn't listen to them anymore. It was too depressing. Everything about this whole situation was too depressing. The worst part was that Honeypool was usually the cat he'd go to to be cheered up. But she was clearly in no state to cheer up any cat.

The only members of RogueClan who weren't horrifically injured in some way, fretting over their mates or kits, busy working, or simply staring ominously into the distance were Yellowkit and Daisykit. But somehow they were the cats who it pained Rubblepaw the most to look at. They were so young and innocent, like he'd been before this whole Alliance fiasco. Rubblepaw longed to go back to the days when he was simply Rogue, a kit who lived with Boss and tromped through the marsh looking for frogs; who laid down in the middle of the twoleg walking path once and got picked up and cuddled by a twoleg before Boss showed up and scared them away; who caught a chickadee at the feeder but missed the plump red squirrel sitting on top of the feeder, barely two tail-lengths above his head.

Rubblepaw missed that sometimes.

In the morning, when dawn light filtered into the hole beneath the tree roots where the cats of RogueClan slept, it took Rubblepaw a second to remember what had happened. In fact, it took him several seconds. At first he simply got up, groggy, and stepped over sleeping cats before realizing that he wasn't in the usual place. He had slept in ditches every now and then when there was a storm and his tree rocked in the wind, out of fear that it would blow down overnight, but that hadn't happened since he'd joined RogueClan.

Then once he became more aware of his surroundings, the bloodscent seeped into Rubblepaw's half-open mouth, resting on his tongue and making him gag. That was when the events of the previous day hit him in a flash and he remembered that his Clan had been driven out of its camp by the Alliance.

Now Rubblepaw really wanted to gag. But unlike the previous night, now he was hungry. He stepped tentatively out from under the tree roots, keeping his head up in case there were any Alliance cats lurking about.

Strikestar was sitting at the top of the hill, staring out over the woods solemnly. Rubblepaw joined him.

"It's really terrible what happened to us, huh?"

"Rubblepaw… what are you doing up?" Strikestar had dark circles under his eyes; he must not have slept very much, if at all. "You should be resting with your Clanmates. I'll catch a few things for you all to eat if you want."

"Strikestar, you can't do everything by yourself," Rubblepaw protested. "I can catch my own breakfast. Besides, you need to rest too."

"You aren't my deputy. Why are you telling me what to do?" Strikestar's meow wasn't angry, but it sounded kind of vacant, like he had just given up. "I'm the Clan leader. I make my own decisions."

"You're my brother, Strikestar." Rubblepaw was sometimes frustrated by the leader's independent mindset. "I care about you, and I want what's best for you."

Strikestar blinked slowly but didn't reply. He got up and walked back into the shelter, where he walked in circles a few times before lying down. Rubblepaw doubted he was really going to sleep- Strikestar was probably just doing it to shut him up. But at least he was letting Rubblepaw hunt for himself.

Rubblepaw headed toward the twoleg bird feeding structure. When he got to it, he saw that it had fallen from the tree and was lying on the ground. All the seeds had spilled out, and birds were pecking at them. Rubblepaw caught a couple of them and started to head back, but he stopped.

Maybe he should go see what things looked like at the camp.

It was mouse-brained, he knew. He didn't want a run-in with the Alliance. But he had to see for himself what was going on there. Within minutes, Rubblepaw found himself standing at the line of trees that acted as a tunnel into camp. The splintered wood poked into his pads as he stepped gingerly over it to see that the camp was completely deserted. There wasn't a single cat there- Alliance or otherwise. The Alliance must have figured out that RogueClan had snuck away, and decided there was no point in sticking around.

Well, there was nothing more to see here. Rubblepaw turned, tail swishing sadly, and headed back to where his Clanmates hid.

He dropped his catch in the sandy ground, sending a cloud of dust billowing up around it. He coughed, roots brushing up against his back. Most of the Clan was awake now, although Frostglaze, who had worked all night, was sprawled out on his back sleeping. Rustleleaf was encouraging Browndapple as she tried to walk using only three legs. Meanwhile, Emberfur was sobbing over Fishleap's blinded eye. Bearpelt, whose wounds were finally starting to heal properly, was comforting her. Specklestone was trying to keep Yellowkit and Daisykit entertained while Squirreltail glared at Honeypool, still understandably furious about her actions. There had been no sign of Darkstep, and Strikestar had said that she had to be presumed dead at this point.

"I've got a couple of birds here," Rubblepaw announced. "If anybody wants to eat them, go ahead, but be sure to share!"

"Me! Me!" Daisykit exclaimed, scrambling over to the fresh-kill with drool dripping from her lips. "I wanna eat!"

She grabbed a cedar waxwing and devoured half of it before rolling onto her back, licking her lips happily. Yellowkit walked up more slowly, trying to seem more cool and grown-up, but hunger glinted in his eyes too and he finished off the waxwing quickly.

"I'll share that finch with you if you want," Honeypool mewed to Emberfur, who nodded gratefully. "I don't know if Bearpelt would want any; maybe you should ask him."

"Yeah, you should have that finch," Squirreltail muttered. "I bet it'll taste a lot better than those Deathberries did."

"Don't say that!" Specklestone hissed. "Can't you see she's upset about what she did already? Let's just be glad that Rubblepaw was there to save her."

"Actually, the one who really saved her was an Alliance cat called Ray," Rubblepaw admitted. "He gave me some yarrow. I don't even know what he was doing there or how he got the yarrow, but it was a relief, that's for sure. I'll make sure to thank him for it if I ever see him again."

"Ray?" Strikestar's ears pricked and he cracked open his eye. "Tell me what Ray looked like."

"He was a golden tabby tom with amber eyes."

"I knew I cat that sounds exactly like that back in the Alliance," Strikestar muttered. "He was very nice to me, but just like Mist, he preferred you. You got sick when you were only a couple days old, and Ray saved your life. After that I got jealous and tried to put myself in danger to get his attention. I ran across a thunderpath while a monster was coming. Ray saved me, but he got hit instead of me and died. It can't be the same cat, but it sounds exactly like him."

Rubblepaw blinked in amazement. Ray had appeared more or less out of nowhere both times Rubblepaw had come across him, and both times it had been just in time to help Rubblepaw save someone. He thought back to standing outside of Trixie and Coal's den.

 _"You've gotta go in there alone."_ That was what he'd said. But had it really been because he didn't want to betray the Alliance, or was it because he had done as much as he could to help Rubblepaw already? When Rubblepaw concentrated on holding the image of Ray in his mind, he could picture stardust lining the coat of the kindly tom. It all made sense now. Ray was a spirit-cat!

"Ray must be one of those spirit-cats," Rubblepaw mewed excitedly. "He showed up out of the blue and gave me what I needed, and then he vanished! It makes so much sense. It is the same Ray you knew, but now he's visiting form the afterlife to help-"

"That's ridiculous," Strikestar cut him off. "Spirit-cats are the stuff of myth. If I've never seen one, and Frostglaze has never seen one, why would some random apprentice see one?! It's preposterous. Now, if all you've got to do is make claims about random cats being ghosts, maybe you should consider making yourself a little more useful."

He stormed off. Rubblepaw stared sadly after him, confused. Why was Strikestar so set against the existence of spirit-cats? And why _wouldn't_ they appear to Strikestar? Was there something about Strikestar that didn't make him a proper leader? It seemed that everywhere Rubblepaw turned, there was a new set of questions, but there was no time to think about spirits when the entire Clan had been uprooted. Strikestar was right; Rubblepaw did need to make himself useful.


	27. Chapter 27

Mist stopped and stood before Strikestar. Arrow and the rest of her backup lingered behind her, far enough away that they couldn't reach any cat at the moment, but close enough so that they could catch any cat who tried to run.

"Hmm… how curious," she purred. "I must be experiencing déjà-vu. This whole scenario seems very familiar to me somehow- almost as if it happened just yesterday."

"Very funny," Strikestar scowled. "You didn't really think we'd just stand by and let you take over, did you?"

Mist circled around Strikestar, their pelts brushing momentarily as she did. Strikestar's pelt bristled at the contact. The tension between them was incredibly thick, and Rubblepaw felt on edge as well, not only because his leader was being threatened, but also because Mist hadn't so much as glanced his way. Her eyes were only on Strikestar this time.

"Well, I don't see why you've all stopped fighting," Mist mewed calmly. "Don't let me be a distraction to you; carry on."

"Ignore what she says," Strikestar ordered. "Do not fight these cats, even if they attack you. We will fight for our land, but not right now. Right now, it's time for me to settle things with Mist. Everybody else: stay out of it."

Rubblepaw knew that he had as much reason to be settling things with Mist as Strikestar did, but he was still just an apprentice, and "everybody" applied to him as well. But it was just as well, because no Alliance cats seemed particularly keen on attacking them either.

Strikestar lunged at Mist, who stepped back just in time, smiling as she watched him skid harmlessly into the ground. She placed a paw firmly on his head, pressing down just enough so blood trickled down his scalp. Strikestar reached out with his front paws and hooked his claws into her chest fur, pulling her in close before attempting to bite her throat, but she pulled back and he came away with gray fluff in his claws and thin air between his fangs.

"I'm afraid that's not how to kill somebody," Mist chided. "Don't you remember your basic battle training, Striker? Remember the rule, my dear…"

" _'A king of the Alliance must also be a killer'_." Strikestar said it along with Mist, his voice low and monotone. Rubblepaw could tell that these were words that had been drilled into his mind; words that had become so familiar that Strikestar could remember them seasons later.

"That's very good, Striker," Mist praised him. "I'm glad you remember. And I've thought a lot about my actions, and you know what? I apologize for favouring Rubble. I'll always love you, even if I love him more. You're both my sons, and you are both royalty. But I think you will make a fine king, even if you don't think you can be a killer just yet."

"I wouldn't care much to be a king or a killer," Strikestar growled. "But your mouse-brained rule does reflect a value I do believe in- that a leader of a Clan must also be a warrior! And so I will fight for RogueClan, no matter what you offer to give me if I don't!"

Mist regarded him sadly. Behind her, Arrow shifted his weight, staring at the ground.

"My love, why must you humour him so?" Arrow muttered. "We both know that our Striker will never return to us, and neither will Rubble. We already have our new heir. Why can't we just give up and have her inherit leadership of the Alliance instead? We could even make peace with RogueClan. Surely being the enemies of our kin isn't worth having the prince you want."

"Our 'new heir' may be strong, but she shares no blood with us," Mist sighed. "And she does not fit in with the rest of the Alliance. She refuses to wear fangs in her collar, and she never wants to get her paws dirty. I would feel much more confident leaving the Alliance in the paws of Striker or Rubble than in hers."

A new heir who was a she-cat, who didn't wear fangs on her collar, and didn't want to get her paws dirty… that description sounded all too familiar. Rubblepaw realized they must mean the gray-and-white cat. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her among the army of Alliance cats. But if she wasn't their kin, whose kin was she?

Honeypool stood up, shoving a couple of Alliance cats out of the way as she strode up to Strikestar and stood beside him, defiance flashing in her eyes.

"I am the deputy of RogueClan," she announced. "If you take Strikestar, I will become the next leader. And if that happens, you can be sure I'll hunt you down and destroy you. So you'd better think twice before messing with us again. Now, if you want to leave, you can leave. That's definitely what I'd recommend- for your own good."

"My, what have we here?" Mist tittered. "Why, Arrow, I'd say this cat perfectly matches the fake description of the Clan leader that we were given a while back! Isn't that funny? It's a good thing we found out that the leader was actually our little Striker before we tried to go after the wrong cat, isn't it?"

"You're very right, my love," Arrow agreed hastily. "But now that she's standing here in front of us, maybe we should try making an example of her."

"That just might be a good idea," Mist purred. She flicked her tail to the crowd that stood behind Arrow. "Viper, would you take care of this honey-coated cat for us, please? Make it as messy as you please."

Viper, a slender tom with sleek, shiny blue-black fur, stepped up, licking his lips. There was something odd about his fang-enhanced claws. Rubblepaw noticed that there was a liquid dripping out of them- venom! That must have been how this cat had gotten his name.

"Don't you dare lay a paw on my deputy," Strikestar hissed. "Viper, we knew each other back when I lived with you. We were good friends, remember? You wouldn't kill my Clanmate, would you?"

"I was friends with prince Striker, heir to the throne of the Alliance," Viper hissed. "Strikestar, the leader of RogueClan, is my enemy. And so is his deputy."

Honeypool stared down the sleek black tom, hackles raised. She looked unnerved by his poisonous claws, but her gaze was focused on his eyes- she was trying to determine if and when exactly he was going to strike.

Viper swiped at Honeypool's muzzle, but she blocked his blow with the back of her paw, stepping on his other front paw. Now both of their front paws were effectively immobilized. Honeypool gave Viper a sharp headbutt under the chin, knocking his head back. While he was dazed, she swung her back leg underneath and kicked him in the stomach. He topple over, pain dancing in his eyes.

Looking satisfied, Honeypool stepped over him and faced Mist once more. But Viper reached out and placed a paw, claws sheathed, on her chest- right near where her heart was. If he unsheathed his claws and the venom entered her body, it would reach her heart before any cat could cure it.

"Perhaps Striker would consider coming back now," he meowed coolly. "If not, I may have to unsheathe these claws…"

"I won't go back to the Alliance," Strikestar spat. "Stop calling my brother and me by our old names. That is not who we are now!"

Viper kept his paw placed firmly on Honeypool's chest fur. He made a show of extending his other front paw and flexing his claws. Rubblepaw wondered how he had managed to get the snake venom inside of the dog fangs that Alliance cats used for claws. He must have had to hollow the fangs out himself, and poke tiny holes at the tips so the venom could enter his opponents' bodies when he scratched them. It was all very impressive, really. But it was hard to be impressed by a cat who was currently threatening the life of a cat you cared about.

"I won't go back," Strikestar repeated, almost as if he were trying to convince himself.

"Then this cat will die," Viper said flatly.

He was really going to do it; Rubblepaw could tell. And Strikestar would let him.

"P-please don't kill her!" he blurted, jumping to his paws. "I'll join you. I'll join the Alliance and be your king! Just please don't kill Honeypool."

Gasps filled the clearing. Strikestar fixed his gaze on Rubblepaw, full of disbelief. Rubblepaw couldn't blame him; he hardly believed his own words himself. And he knew that he didn't really mean them. Of course he wanted to save Honeypool, but it was just a trick. As soon as Viper got away from her, he'd say "fooled you!" and go back to fighting the Alliance. No part of Rubblepaw would ever really consider actually rejoining the Alliance… right?

"I see." Mist's eyes were wide, but she kept her voice steady. "In that case, I suppose I won't be needing you anymore, Striker… or oh, sorry, you only want to be called by your fancy new name, don't you? Well, Strikestar, I hope you're happy now."

"Rubblepaw, don't do it," Strikestar pleaded. His one-eyed gaze was filled with desperation. "I know how much you care about Honeypool, but you can't put the life of one cat before your loyalty to RogueClan."

"Honeypool is part of RogueClan," Rubblepaw mewed. "I can't let them harm her."

But Honeypool's gaze was dark, and it mirrored Strikestar's pleading look. Viper had lowered his paw, but it was still so close to her that he could still kill her anytime he wanted. Rubblepaw took a step toward Mist. He tried to take another, but his paws were rooted to the ground. He couldn't actually go through with it. But if he didn't, his friend would die.

"It looks like Rubble is indecisive," Mist muttered. "Maybe if that honey-coloured cat dies, he'll feel like he has nothing to go back to in RogueClan. Then again, if she dies at my command he'll never forgive me. What do you think we should do, Arrow?"

"I'd say we should let him take a look at his replacement," Arrow suggested. He raised his muzzle to the sky and called, "My lady, would you come down here? There are some cats down here who want to see you."

Tree branches snapped and rustled overhead, and a few seconds later the familiar voice of the gray-and-white she-cat returned Arrow's call.

"I'm sorry, but I'd really rather not," she mewed. "Just tell them I'm pretty and I'm sure they'll have all the information they'll need."

Arrow frowned.

"That's not very funny, my lady."

"Okay, okay, I'll come down," she sighed, sounding so exasperated you'd have thought that Arrow had just asked her to perform some arduous task. "But I hope you don't expect me to battle these cats for you. I do hate to get blood on myself; I don't think it complements the colour of my eyes."

There were more branches rustling, and a few moments later, she was standing on the ground next to Arrow. It was at such an angle that Rubblepaw could barely see her, and he noticed that Honeypool was craning her neck; Viper was blocking her vision of the gray-and-white cat. Strikestar looked almost confused upon seeing her, but then his gaze sharpened, as though something had just become clear to him.

"This cat looks like she'd make a fine replacement for me," he mewed coldly. "Why, with a cat like her around, I don't see why you'd want me at all."

Rubblepaw stepped back, eyeing the gray-and-white she-cat. She'd fixed her eyes on him, a question in her eyes.

"I've changed my mind," Rubblepaw mewed finally, his voice cracking. It was what his Clanmates wanted to hear, and he had to be loyal to his Clanmates. Maybe he really had considered joining the Alliance for a moment, but that didn't mean that was his decision. "I'm not joining you after all. I'm staying with my Clan, and I won't do otherwise, even if you hurt me!"

"Oh," Mist mumbled, sounding let down. "I guess you won't mind if Viper kills your friend after all. Do it, Viper; you heard the cat."

Viper nodded, his fangs stretching into a grin. He raised his paw, the venom at the tips of his outstretched claws glistening. Honeypool's eyes widened with terror and she clamped her jaws around his leg so he couldn't bring it down on her. But he had two front paws. Viper's venomous claws bore down on Honeypool from behind, too fast for Rubblepaw to call out to her.

But Rubblepaw had been so focused on Honeypool that he hadn't noticed the alarm flashing in the gray-and-white she-cat's vision. He hadn't noticed her face display a thousand emotions at once as she stared at Honeypool. He hadn't watched as she'd coiled her muscles and lumped, pouncing on Viper and wrestling him to the ground a split-second before his claws would have sunken into Honeypool's flesh.

Honeypool sat up, stunned. Rubblepaw rushed to her side, and they both watched as the gray-and-white cat held down Viper's front legs with her hind legs, stared him down for a second, and then dug her claws into his neck, ripping open his throat. Bile rose in Rubblepaw's throat as he watched Viper writhe in agony, then twitch, then become still… Honeypool seemed just as horrified as he was.

The gray-and-white she-cat turned around, blood dripping from her muzzle and paws. When she made eye contact with Honeypool, Rubblepaw couldn't understand why Honeypool's breath caught in her throat. It was always horrifying to watch a cat kill another, but that moment hadn't seemed to bother her so much as the cat herself.

"Honeypool," the gray-and-white cat whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "That's a lovely name. I would have liked to have a name like that myself one day, but I'm happy with who I am. Are you happy too? Or have I done something wrong?"

"Of course you've done nothing wrong," Honeypool replied, her voice catching in her throat. "I just didn't expect to ever see you alive again, Dewpaw."


	28. Chapter 28

Rubblepaw stared at the two she-cats, Honeypool's emotional mew ringing in his ears.

"D-Dewpaw?!" he stammered. "I thought you said she was dead!"

It was a mouse-brained thing to say. Honeypool had clearly thought so as well. Her eyes glistened as she gazed at the gray-and-white cat. Come to think of it, Rubblepaw could certainly see the similarities- they were the same age, they had the same muscle tic in their ears, and their eyes had the same wide, fierce but knowing shape and sparkle.

But this cat's eyes were not shining like Honeypool's- at least, not in the same way. If this really was her long-lost sister, Dewpaw, then a lot had happened to the young cat since she'd disappeared to make her look so… evil.

"Actually, you're not the only one with a different name from the last time we saw each other." Dewpaw puffed out her chest proudly. "Arrow wanted to shorten it to just Dew, but Mist suggested we change it to Dewdrop instead. So that's what I've been called since then. Well, most of the low-ranking Alliance rabble just calls me Lady, but Dewdrop is my real name."

"That's a lovely name," Honeypool whispered. "But how did you end up here? How did you even survive? And why are you of all cats heir to the Alliance?"

"Oh, sister, that's a very long story," Dewdrop mewed. "Let's sit down so we can fill each other in on what's happened in the past six moons or so."

She raised her voice, standing up to address the crowd.

"Lady Dewdrop, heir to the throne, commands you to call off this petty squabble at once!" she yowled commandingly. "It's not worth risking more deaths just to get this useless chunk of land anyway. Besides, as long as my sister is with the Alliance, they must not be our enemies! Do you understand?"

"Hold on, young lady," Arrow objected. "You're not queen just yet. We won't call off our attack until we get our princes back."

Dewdrop let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"We've already established that they don't want to go back," she whined. "Why can't you just trust me enough to let me take over when that Mist crone bites it? In fact, if you just give up now, that day might actually be delayed. You wouldn't want to see Mist get offed by one of her own beloved sons, would you?"

"Nobody is going to 'off' me," Mist snarled. "Arrow, I know you want this self-important young furball to succeed us, but I will not take orders from her! I want my Rubble back!"

"You'll never take him," Strikestar hissed.

Rubblepaw looked on with alarm. He hadn't expected an argument to start up- physical fighting, sure, but a harsh exchanging of words between leaders? It was so absurd that he almost started laughing before he remembered that he was still surrounded by enemies who could easily kill him if it struck their mind to do so.

"I suppose peace would be best for both of us, though," Mist eventually conceded. "Please, my dear Striker, if you or your brother ever change your mind, tell me. I really do love you both, you know. I'll always love my precious sons."

"We'll call it a truce for now," Strikestar agreed wearily. "If you get all of your cats cleared off my land within the next half hour, I won't break it."

Mist nodded. She motioned to Arrow, who followed her reluctantly out of the camp. The other Alliance cats exchanged confused glances, but they, too, left. Many of them were cats Rubblepaw hadn't even realized were there, jumping out of trees or rising out from ditches and holes in the ground, or stepping out from bushes or behind rocks and trees. The cats of the Alliance were masters of hiding. They left, clearing out of the in-shambles RogueClan camp in streams.

Soon the only non-RogueClan cat left in the clearing was Dewdrop. She gave Honeypool a slight nod, and they walked out of the camp as well, heading in a different direction than the Alliance had. His curiosity piqued, Rubblepaw followed them, stepping quietly over the snow so as not to alert his presence to them. He followed them down beside a winding stream, over a few rises and dips, and came to a stop, crouching in a brambly ditch, barely a fox-length away from where they had stopped and were now sitting and sharing tongues next to a little semi-frozen pond that the stream flowed into.

"I still can't believe it's you," Honeypool was saying, her mew sounding numb and disconnected, as though she were in a dream. "I made you a grave and everything- a stick propped up in the ground below the branches of this beautiful willow tree. It's not too far from here, actually. Do you want to go see it?"

"Maybe in a few minutes," Dewdrop purred. "For now, I bet you'd like to hear about how I ended up alive and as the successor to Mist."

"I'm dying to hear it," Honeypool agreed.

"Well, the first thing you need to know," Dewdrop began, a faraway look settling over her eyes, "is how desperate the Alliance was after Rubblepaw and Strikestar ran away. They needed a new heir. But Mist couldn't have any more kits. But no cat needed to know that- in fact, only Arrow and Mist knew. It was a top-secret mission that Arrow was sent on that day: to find a kit, young enough to be retrained, but old enough to stay alive, and to make that kit the new heir, claiming it as the kit of Mist and Arrow. It was by pure chance that that kit ended up being me…"

Arrow had padded through the forest, his pads growing exceedingly tired. Had Mist really expected him to find a random kit, just roaming about in the woods? How ridiculous. Even though it had been greenleaf, and a lovely day at that, it didn't mean that kits would have just been in the forest by themselves.

Of course, Arrow would have been able to handle a kit that hadn't been on its own. All it would have taken was a few well-placed blows to make any kit an orphan. But he hadn't felt like killing that day. Maybe it was because it had been so beautiful that day, or maybe it was because he'd still been half-mad with grief over losing his own sons- Mist had said they must have been dead; how could two kits survive on their own?

Arrow had realized that he'd walked much farther than he'd known. He'd gone through twolegplace and had found nothing but dogs and monsters wanting to feast on him, and now he'd been deep into forest again, but this time it had been a different forest. Leaves had crunched under his paws rather than needles- or thunderpath material, thankfully, although the acrid stench of twolegplace still lingered in the air.

Suddenly Arrow had heard something. It had sounded like… kits mewing? When he'd listened closer, he'd been able to confirm that, yes, there were two she-kits mewing happily to each other. Arrow hadn't heard any adult cats; they'd been on their own.

"Honeypaw, we should turn back now." Smart kit, Arrow had thought to himself, chuckling. "It's not safe. There's a thunderpath pretty close to here. If you get run over by a monster-"

"What are you talking about, Dewpaw? The thunderpath is way far away. It's back at the place with the river and the big grassy hill," the second kit had giggled; Arrow had hidden himself behind a tree while the kits had approached so they wouldn't detect him.

"But there are lots of thunderpaths all over the world! Don't you know that?!"

"Oh. I thought it was just the one." The kit called Honeypaw had shrugged. "I guess I was wrong."

Once they had been close enough for Arrow to practically just reach out and grab one, he had more or less done just that, stepping out from behind the tree and staring down the two young she-cats, who'd panicked, scrambling to get away as Arrow had give chase, loping at a much slower pace than he'd been capable of- he'd always liked toying with prey a bit.

Arrow had watched and listened as Honeypaw had said she would stay and fight, and Dewpaw had begged her not to. He hadn't cared what the kits did, because he knew it had been going to end up the same way no matter what- and it had.

Eventually, Honeypaw had taken off, running and crying. Dewpaw had faced Arrow bravely for a kit her size, her fur fluffed out and her tiny little claws ready to fight. Arrow had given her a powerful bat to the back of the head when she'd pounced on him, the little ball of gray-and-white fluff, knocking her out. He'd still been able to hear her sister's terrified mewls echoing through the forest as he'd picked up Dewpaw and carried her gently in hiss jaws, all the way back home to Mist.

She had woken up halfway there, and instantly started squirming, mewing about Honeypaw and other cats with similarly odd names- Specklestone, Squirreltail, Strikestar. For a second, when she'd said Strikestar, Arrow had misheard it as Striker, the name of his lost son, welling up a cloud of grief within the Alliance king that he'd forced himself to choke down, not wanting to cry in front of a kit.

After that, Dewpaw's name had been changed to Dewdrop. Arrow had grown fond of her very quickly- she'd been like a daughter to him. Dewdrop had learned fast, but she never wanted to use her skills. Instead, Arrow had learned very quickly that she preferred to let the big, burly toms fight for her. Another thing Dewdrop liked to do differently was wearing a normal collar. Arrow had tried several times to equip fangs to it, but she'd always refused. She hadn't had any problem with putting the fangs between her paws to enhance her claws the way the rest of the Alliance did, though. Dewdrop had never used those fang-claws outside of training, but she'd loved the way they looked.

And she still did to this day.

"And what about you, sister?" Dewdrop asked once she was finished her tale. "Do you have anything interesting to tell me? Like, do you have a mate yet? I think that Rubblepaw might like you…"

"Rubblepaw is my apprentice," Honeypool said quickly; Rubblepaw's heart sank, but then she went on: "I do have to admit he's cute, but he's so young- and so am I. Maybe in a year or two we can be mates, but right now, I like being his friend well enough."

"In the Alliance, cats can have kits as young as they like," Dewdrop explained. "I've refrained from that for now- most of the toms in the Alliance only care about fighting. I've seen a couple of she-cats that I wouldn't have minded getting to know a bit better, but when I asked, they've all said they prefer the company of toms. Now, what was the name of that tortoiseshell I saw in your camp? She's beautiful."

Heat crept over Rubblepaw's face. He felt very guilty for eavesdropping on this conversation, but he didn't fully trust Dewdrop, and he wanted to make sure she didn't do anything bad to Honeypool. They were so close together… if one of them decided to kill the other…

"I'm glad you're being so open with me, but sadly, Emberfur has a mate," Honeypool purred. "So, do you want to hear about my experiences too, or nah?"

"Oh, I'd love to hear about all of the exciting things that have happened to you," Dewdrop meowed, her smile dropping away. "But I just remembered overhearing something between a couple of Alliance cats- a plan for a three-cat ambush. Something about an assassination?"

Honeypool stiffened, as did Rubblepaw.

"I think they were saying something about helping out queen Mist; making it so Rubblepaw would be the heir by killing Strikestar."


	29. Chapter 29

_Rogue's paws slammed against the needle-strewn forest floor, blood roaring in his ears. Boss' scent led this way. If he could just run a bit faster, he'd find the kindly old tom, he knew it._

 _Boss had said the night before that he was going to leave. Rogue hadn't believed him then. Now that he'd woken up to find Boss gone, he realized that it had been true. The scent of sickness made the trail easy to track, but Boss must have snuck out at moonhigh, because the trail was already hours old. Such an old cat, and a sick one too, wouldn't be able to move as fast as Rogue could._

 _But Rogue ran for hours and never found Boss. The scent trail stopped at the thunderpath. Across it, Rogue could just make the crumbling twoleg building if he squinted. Boss never let him get too close to the thunderpath, but now that Rogue was there, maybe he could see what was on the other side._

 _Maybe that was where Boss had gone. He placed a paw tentatively on the hard black material. It felt bumpy under his paw. He started to walk across it, calling out for Boss. Suddenly a monster went roaring by, ruffling Rogue's fur. Terrified, he turned around and bolted back the way he'd come. He scrambled up his tree and sat shivering in his nest, staring down sadly at the thicket where Boss had slept. He knew now that the old gray tom was gone for good._

 _Rogue was alone…_

Rubblefang sat up, blinking against the bright leaf-bare sunlight. It looked like it was at least sunhigh. Groaning, he got to his paws and padded over to the fresh-kill pile. Becoming a warrior had been amazing, even if he still wasn't completely convinced he had been ready, but sitting vigil was another story. He was still tired, but he was hungry too, and he didn't feel much like sleeping any more. Dreams of his past would just keep chasing him whenever he closed his eye.

Strikestar was at the fresh-kill pile too, staring intently at a chickadee. Rubblefang greeted him with a sleepy mew, and Strikestar smiled, but it was an unnatural smile, cold and faltering and half-dead-looking. Something was clearly bothering Strikestar, and it was something that had been bothering him last night too, when he'd seemed to be in such a rush when making Rubblefang a warrior.

"Did you have a good sleep, brother?" the leader asked, his eye hollow and vacant. "You sure were tired after your vigil last night."

"I slept well." Rubblefang looked at his brother, concerned. "Um, Strikestar, is something wrong? You've been acting kind of strange-"

"I'm fine," Strikestar said quickly. "Really, nothing's wrong. Just- please don't talk about it."

He picked up the chickadee and walked away, ducking into his den. Confused, Rubblefang selected a gray squirrel that had been lying on the pile for a few days, going uneaten during the takeover of the Alliance, and sniffed at it to see if it was still good. He decided not to risk it, grabbing a thrush that the morning hinting patrol had caught instead.

As he was eating, Fishleap approached him. The silver tom's blinded eye had been taken out to avoid infection, and the space where it had previously been was a little disgusting to look at, but Rubblefang remembered how cats used to stare at his own scars and decided not to comment on it.

"Hey, fellow warrior," Fishleap purred. "I love your warrior name by the way. It sounds very cool. I'd much rather be named after fangs and rubble than a jumping fish. At least we're evenly matched in the missing eye department, though!" He puffed out his chest. "So, how do I look?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say it was you who was the lost prince of the Alliance," Rubblefang mewed teasingly; Fishleap seemed to take it as a compliment. "Seriously, though, you look good. Why do you ask? Is there some cat you're trying to impress?"

"Only you," Fishleap admitted. "I may have been in RogueClan longer than you, but you are older than me, and to be honest, I think you're kind of cool, Rubblefang."

Rubblefang was taken aback. Fishleap's gaze flitted to the ground nervously, and he backed away, mumbling, "I guess I shouldn't have said that. I guess I'd better go now. Sorry for bothering you."

"Wait," said Rubblefang. "If you want to be friends, that's great! I always wanted to have a more friendly relationship with you, you know."

"Friends, huh?" Fishleap tilted his head. Then he grinned. "Nah! We're rivals, right? We can't get too close or I'll let my guard down, and then you'll one-up me."

Rubblefang blinked as Fishleap turned and walked away, his silver tail swishing behind him. That certainly was an interesting cat.

The rest of that day was fairly quiet. Every cat was glad that peace had been restored, even if it would probably only be temporary. There was no sign of any Alliance cats- with the exception of Dewdrop, who was staying in the RogueClan camp. Rubblefang was alarmed when he saw her idly sunning herself and sharing tongues with Honeypool, but he decided not to mention it. Honeypool had her sister back. It would be rude of Rubblefang to ruin the moment for her.

At one point late in the afternoon, Strikestar sent Rubblefang out on a border patrol with Specklestone, Rustleleaf, and Bearpelt. The patrol went up to the border, Rubblefang half-expecting to find a swarm of Alliance cats around every corner, but the only Alliance scent that hung in the air was from the days before. It was a warm day, but not enough for all the snow that had recently fallen to melt away. When Rubblefang stood in the sunlight, he was warmed, but in the shadows it was cool, and in the forest there were a lot of shadows.

While they were on their way back to camp, they ran into another patrol made up of Squirreltail, Emberfur, and Fishleap, who were out hunting. Since RogueClan was so small, it was unusual for two patrols to be sent out at once. But Rubblefang tried not to think too much of it. Strikestar knew what he was doing. Sure, the only cats back at camp would have been Strikestar, Browndapple- who wouldn't be able to fight well because of her leg-, Frostglaze and his kits, Honeypool, and Dewdrop, who wasn't even a RogueClan cat… but there was a truce in place with the Alliance; no cat should have any reason to attack RogueClan. Besides, as long as Strikestar and Honeypool were there the Clan would at least have some defense, right?

So Rubblefang brushed it off. But the prickling in his pelt persisted. He knew something was wrong. He tried to walk faster back to camp. Rustleleaf asked him why he was in such a hurry, and he explained, "I don't know what it is, but I think something really bad is about to happen."

"Really?" Rustleleaf asked. "Everything seems fine to me. I think you're worrying too much, Rubblefang."

"Maybe Strikestar shouldn't have made you a warrior so quickly," Bearpelt added jokingly. "It's aged you prematurely and made you stressed out."

"Funny, guys," Rubblefang muttered sarcastically, adding, "You're right. I'm sure everything will be fine. I just need to stop worrying so much about things."

In the distance, he could swear he heard something cracking, like a branch falling off a tree. He thought back to the Alliance cat who'd been positioned up in a tree, leaping to save her kit as he fell… if Rubblefang could have been that cat now, he would have. Something deep in the back of Rubblefang's mind urged his paws to move faster, flying over the soft, sticky snow. Behind him, his Clanmates called out in confusion, running after him. Rubblefang kept his gaze focused on the rows of black spruce trees in front of him, darting between them and jumping over the occasional root or rock that lay in his path.

Something very bad was happening in camp. Rubblefang could sense it. The sound of wood cracking couldn't have been real- his hearing wasn't that good- but there was something undeniably real about it.

Past a pine tree, the trunk of which had split into two, twisting around each other; past a birch tree that twolegs had carved shapes and symbols that meant nothing to Rubblefang into the bark of; past a series of snow-capped stumps from trees that had been chewed down by beavers, Rubblefang ran. In the back of his head, blood red danced upon pitch black upon gray tabby stripes and split ears.

The camp was just barely in sight through the trees now. Rubblefang heard the same wood cracking sound again, but this time it was closer, and something told him that this time the sound was real. A bloodcurdling yowl split the air just as he dashed under the row of saplings that had once again been weighed down and bent over by downfall, turning them back into a tunnel.

Ahead of him, Rubblefang saw a falling branch- a large branch, with a small clump of twigs and moss clinging to it- Rubblefang's nest! And he saw Strikestar, looking up at the branch, but unable to move, for he was ensnared in brambles. His fur was matted with blood where the brambles dug in. Rubblefang was barely a fox-length away from his brother, calling out for him to get away, although it was plain to see that he could not.

Rubblefang shut his eye for a split-second, wishing that when he opened it the branch would be gone. Instead, in that moment of darkness, he heard the crunching of wood upon flesh and bone, and a yowl of agony. Rubblefang couldn't open his eye again. When he did, he saw Strikestar lying under the fallen branch, wood pellets and the remnants of Rubblefang's old nest scattered around him.

In an instant Rubblefang was at his brother's side. Strikestar was trapped under the branch. That was what Rubblefang chose to concentrate on. Not the way that his body was twisted, or the way that the branches stabbed deep into his flesh, or the way that his back legs were splayed and limp. Strikestar was trapped beneath the branch. Rubblefang would get him out. _Don't look at everything else._

"Rubble-" Strikestar twisted his head around to look at Rubblefang, wincing with pain as he moved his neck. _Don't look the way his skull is half-crushed._ "Get away…"

"I'll save you," Rubblefang whispered, trying to convince himself that it was possible.

Strikestar let out a low, gurgling moan. Rubblefang didn't look at the blood beginning to trickle out of the corners of his mouth. _Frostglaze is a good healer. He can help him._

But Frostglaze was already beside him, horror in his eyes. Honeypool was there, too, looking like she might be sick as she stared at Strikestar. Dewdrop sat beside her, looking oddly calm, as though she had been expecting this to happen.

 _Don't look at the bone protruding through the skin._

 _Don't look at the blood._

 _Don't look-_

"Run away." The words came in gasps lined with blood. "Don't let her do the same to you."

"Strikestar, please…" Rubblefang crouched beside his leader- his brother-, not even sure what he was pleading him to do. "Please… I just…" he trailed off, his mew dissolving into a wail.

Strikestar's eye glazed over, rolling back in his skull. He shuddered, his mangled and bloodied body convulsing. Rubblefang thought he heard him whisper something- maybe something about being proud. Or maybe it was just Rubblefang's wishful thinking.

The Clan leader grew still. Panic flaring in his heart, Rubblefang pressed his muzzle into his brother's fur. It still felt warm. Around him, his Clanmates grew silent. Rubblefang began to shudder as he felt Strikestar's body growing cold. How could this have happened?! He had saved him just yesterday! He'd pushed those Alliance cats off the tree. Had it really been all for nothing?

"Please," Rubblefang repeated, beginning to sob. "Please don't let this be… I need to have… you just… please…"

He knew he wasn't making any sense. He didn't care. Strikestar couldn't be gone! Rubblefang needed his brother. And RogueClan needed its leader.

"Oh, Rubblefang," Honeypool murmured, her mew scratchy. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry, sister," Dewpaw purred- _purred!_ Strikestar was dead and this cat was _purring?!_ "You didn't have anything to do with it. Hey, maybe we should go for a walk in the woods again to cheer you up. You never did show me that willow tree you like so much."

Rubblefang didn't look up at the two she-cats. His eye was still squeezed shut, tears dripping form it onto Strikestar's motionless form. But he could picture the bright flare of anger in her lively green eyes, although those eyes would surely be clouded with sadness now. He could picture the way her fur bristled as she snapped back at Dewdrop, "I'm sorry, sister, but I don't think a little stroll through the forest is going to cheer me up after seeing my leader die!"

"Well, excuse me," Dewdrop sniffed. "I would have thought you'd be happy- after all, this makes you the leader now, doesn't it?"

Honeypool didn't respond. Rubblefang glanced up to see her crouching down beside him, resting her muzzle on Strikestar's body. The other cats all had their heads hung low. The reality of the situation started sinking into Rubblefang and he was overcome with another wave of indescribable sadness. He pressed in close to Honeypool's soft, warm fur, soothed by the steady beating of her heart. It was comforting to think that some cats he cared about were still here, and would be there for him for many days on.

Rubblefang sat there with his Clanmates for a long time. When the hunting patrol came back into camp, they stared at the scene for a long moment. The thrush that Squirreltail had caught dropped out of his half-opened mouth onto the ground. They ran over, and Frostglaze solemnly explained what had happened.

By the time dusk crept over the horizon, the cold had seeped deep into Rubblefang's pelt. It matched the way he felt. All his Clanmates' eyes were still bleary, but it was getting dark. It was time to bury Strikestar.

No cat exactly said so out loud, though. It felt so strange to think that their leader was dead. But Honeypool slowly shifted to her paws, blinked at the Clan, and murmured, "I guess it's time." Rubblefang never wanted to leave his brother's side, but he knew that she was right. It was time to put the leader to rest.

To his surprise, Dewdrop stepped up.

"I'll do it," she offered. "In the Alliance, the dead are left to rot in the ground. Those who live but know they are near death go to a Cave of Ending and kill themselves by eating Deathberries."

Rubblefang shuddered as he remembered the cave filled with the remains of dead Alliance cats, and Honeypool hunched over, berry juice trickling from her mouth…

"However, Strikestar was, as you know, Alliance royalty," she continued. "I know you disapprove of the Alliance, but they are my cats, and I wish to lay my prince to rest in the way that they would there. You have sat vigil for him like a Clan cat; it's only fair that I get to observe my own culture."

"The Alliance isn't a culture. It's no more than an overinflated group of rogues," Bearpelt spat. "It's because of you cats that my son only has one eye!"

"No. She's right," Honeypool whispered. "I will respect my sister's wishes. She has told me about the death ritual for Alliance royalty, and it requires two cats. I will perform it with her."

Rubblefang couldn't believe what he was hearing. This wasn't right! Strikestar had rejected the Alliance way again and again. Why was Honeypool agreeing to this? Sure, Dewdrop was her sister, but…!

But he was just a new warrior, and Honeypool was… well, he supposed she'd be the next leader of RogueClan. He couldn't argue with her. He watched sadly as she went into the forest with Dewdrop one more time, saying that she was going to gather spruce and pine needles for the ritual.

For a moment Rubblefang debated going after her, but there was no point. After all, who was he next to Dewdrop?


	30. Chapter 30

It still felt insane. How could the leader of RogueClan be dead? More than that, how could Rubblefang's brother be dead? But he forced himself not to think of Strikestar as a cat, a cat who he had cared for more than he could say. The Clan had lost its leader. That was the important thing; more important, surely, than Rubblefang's own feelings. It was selfish of him to think anything else.

He supposed that Honeypool would have to be the next leader. Would she simply give herself a leader name after Strikestar's burial? Or would there be some ceremony? Strikestar hadn't believed in spirit-cats, but Honeypool had seemed to. Would she elect a new deputy? Who would it be?

She and Dewdrop had been out gathering branches for a while now. Rubblefang would have gone after them, but his body was numb with grief. He couldn't even lift his head without spots dancing in front of his eye. And every time he blinked, images of splintered wood with a broken cat pinned beneath flashed across his vision. He could hear his Clanmates murmuring amongst themselves, their mews thick with grief. Slowly, as time went by and Rubblefang still didn't move, the murmurs changed to those of concern for him.

"Is Rubblefang okay?" he heard Emberfur asking. "It's been a couple hours, and he still hasn't moved from Strikestar's side…"

"Of course he isn't okay. He's just lost the only kin he has outside of the Alliance," Bearpelt meowed darkly. "I feel sorry for that cat. First he gets made a warrior way before he's ready, and the very next day this happens."

"I wish that Honeypool would have stuck around to comfort him rather than running off with Dewdrop," Squirreltail sighed. "My daughter is probably the only cat who could lift Rubblefang's spirits right now."

Rubblefang tried to block out their well-meaning but unwanted words, but they kept worming their way into his flattened ears. He shuddered in the cold, but he refused to leave the side of his brother, although he knew the cat he'd known was no longer there. Rubblefang was merely crouching beside a broken and twisted shell, and all the heat that would have suggested that it still had life had long since left. Rubblefang pressed his muzzle into cold, blood-stained fur, and he stayed there even as stars began to appear in the indigo sky.

Eventually, Frostglaze approached him.

"Rubblefang, you need to get some rest," he mewed in his gentle deep voice. "You're in shock. I can give you some poppy seeds to help if you want. Do you want anything to eat?"

Rubblefang didn't reply. He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the visions of death and pain that flashed before it. He knew that those images would haunt him for days, weeks, moons to come.

"You can't stay here all night." Frostglaze's voice was more forceful now. "You still have some sleep to catch up on from sitting vigil last night. You need to rest. You'll catch a chill sitting out here alone."

Rubblefang ignored him.

"Listen to me!" Frostglaze pleaded. "Your health is important, Rubblefang. You won't accomplish anything by sitting here in the cold and crying. Let me give you some poppy seeds and you'll feel better."

"Go away," Rubblefang whispered. "You can't help me."

"Maybe not, but I'm a medicine cat, and it's my job to at least try."

Rubblefang didn't answer. He wished Frostglaze would just leave him alone. What good were poppy seeds, anyway? They were just seeds that made you sleepy and made you feel less pain. When Rubblefang had gotten hurt back when he was a kit, Boss had never used poppy seeds, saying that a little pain was good for the soul, and that Rubblefang had needed to grow up and face the pain without the help of some dumb seeds. Why couldn't things be done that way in RogueClan too?

He hated his life. If only Honeypool were there…

"Now, Juicy might have a girly name, but he's a tom through and through. But because of his name, when Hunter first heard about him he thought he was going to be meeting a she-cat. You can imagine the look on his face when he found out…"

Honeypool couldn't particularly imagine it, but she nodded anyway. Dewdrop would probably have found it rude if she hadn't.

"Well, Hunter was about to call the whole meeting off right then and there, but then Juicy started talking and you could just see the love lighting up in Hunter's eyes," Dewdrop recounted as she stood up to sniff at the sap of a fir tree. "Sadly, it didn't work out between them. Juicy refused to join the Alliance, and Hunter didn't want to leave it. But anyways, that's why I always say that you've gotta experiment with both sides before you know for sure whose side you're really on."

"Well, that certainly was an interesting tale," Honeypool purred. "Now can I tell you a story about me, or would it be too boring for you?"

"Oh, I think a story about you would be lovely to hear." Dewdrop reared up on her hind legs and batted at a branch of the fir, shaking off some snow. Then she took it in her teeth and ripped a clump of needles off the trunk of the tree. "Just let me add this to the pile and you can tell me all about it."

Honeypool nodded. Dewdrop had proved to have a lot of interesting stories to tell, but Honeypool wanted to get some talking in, too. She waited while her sister laid the fir branch on top of the pile of coniferous branches, which was already quite an impressive collection. If the fresh-kill pile could be kept as big as that pile of branches, no cat would ever be hungry.

"Well, your story about Dino's kits reminded me of when Fishleap was a kit," Honeypool began once Dewdrop had finished with her branch. "His brother was a very naughty kit, but little Fishkit was actually really shy and polite. It sounds crazy considering what he's like today, but it's true. Now, one day when they were about three moons old, Mothkit decided he wanted to be an apprentice right away. Emberfur told him he'd have to wait, but Mothkit didn't want to hear about it. So basically what happened was that Fishkit tricked him into thinking he was going to become an apprentice right away after all."

"Oh, really?" Dewdrop asked. She sounded a bit disinterested; Honeypool wondered if she wasn't telling the story in an exciting enough way. "How'd he do that? Was it like that time when Trixie went-?"

"Hey, this is about me, remember?" Honeypool interrupted. "You've already told a lot of stories about all the cats you knew in the Alliance. Why don't you let me tell you about RogueClan now?"

"Okay, jeez," Dewdrop muttered. "You don't need to freak out on me like that."

Her fur had been ruffled, but Honeypool tried not to let Dewdrop's attitude bother her. She recounted how Fishkit had started telling Mothkit about all the dangerous training exercises he'd have to do as an apprentice, including many things that no sane mentor would force an apprentice to do. Before long, Mothkit had gone wailing to Strikestar to keep him a kit, terrified of all the scary things apprentices had to do. She'd thought it was a pretty funny story, but Dewdrop didn't seem all that amused.

"Well, it's getting dark," Honeypool observed after she was finished telling her story. "We've got enough branches for the ceremony, right? We should probably be getting back to camp soon."

"Not so fast." Dewdrop hesitated, guilt seeping into her pale blue eyes. "There's one other thing we need for the ceremony- the blood of other royalty, or dirt from other royalty's grave. I know Mist and Arrow wouldn't want to be brought back to your camp to give their blood for the ceremony, and Rubblefang doesn't consider himself Alliance royalty. That only leaves me."

"So use your blood, then," Honeypool mewed, although she was a bit disturbed by that aspect of the tradition. "It's not that big of an issue, really."

"But…" Dewdrop glanced off into the forest. "You said you had made a grave for me when you thought I was dead, right? The soil from that spot, by the laws of the Alliance, should be more sacred than my living blood."

Honeypool didn't see how that would work, but Dewdrop would have known better than she did. Besides, Dewdrop still hadn't seen the willow tree.

"Let's be quick, though," Honeypool advised. "They'll be getting worried."

"Oh, I'm sure they will," Dewdrop agreed. "So I'll be sure to make it quick."

Perhaps the wind had shifted and carried the scent of blood over to the shambles that were the Alliance headquarters, or just maybe the faintest echoes of a scream had somehow reached the ears of the queen, or maybe it was some mystical force that had linked them. But whatever it was, Mist knew as soon as it happened that her son was dead.

"He's gone," she whispered to Arrow, who stood beside her as he always did.

Her mate nodded, his face an expressionless mask.

"Dewdrop has succeeded, then," he meowed. "I knew she could do it."

"And did you want her to?"

"I don't know."

Mist fell silent. Upon her death, Dewdrop was to become the queen. Then she would choose a mate to make her king, and Arrow would be forced to step down, assuming he hadn't already been killed by then. Since she had discovered that Striker and Rubble were still alive, some part of Mist had always kept hoping that they would come back and save the Alliance from Dewdrop's eventual rule. But if Striker was dead, Rubble would be no problem for Dewdrop.

"Dewdrop is like a daughter to me," Arrow had said oh so many times. "I cannot kill her no matter what she does. And if you do, I'll see to it that your death follows shortly."

"I understand, my love," Mist had answered each and every time. "But likewise, if I see that you are attempting to have me killed so as to protect Dewdrop, I will have you both put to death at once."

"That will never happen," Arrow always replied. "If I attempt to kill you, I will succeed."

"Then see to it that Dewdrop is kept in line," Mist would say.

But Dewdrop had killed Striker. Maybe it hadn't been directly, but there were so many ways to kill a cat in secret. Before the plan had been set into action, the young she-cat had confided to Mist that she planned on killing them "one with wood, and one with stone, or perhaps by being let get too close…" Mist had no idea what that meant, but she knew that Dewdrop had been trained in sabotage, so to speak- scratching away at the place where a branch met a trunk until even the smallest of weights or the lightest of winds would send it crashing down; twisting the tendrils of a bramble bush around so that they would ensnare an unprepared cat just so.

Those skills were ones that Alliance cats had no need for, but Dewdrop refused to be a normal Alliance cat. Killing indirectly was her strong point. Getting other cats to fight for her was her favourite thing to do when she didn't care about the outcome.

But Arrow had always insisted that Dewdrop was more than capable of killing in cold blood, and knowing that cat, Mist was inclined to believe him.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Oops, I accidentally, made this chapter super long again! Also, I wrote the chapter from Honeypool's POV this time, because it wouldn't really work from a Rubblefang POV. Let's see what's happening now…**

The old willow creaked ever so slightly in the breeze, its branches swaying back and forth, bare for now but still silvery and dazzling. Honeypool hadn't told Rubblefang, but she'd actually known this tree for a long time… no, not this tree specifically; that was absurd. But it had been a willow so similar to this one; one that had grown back in the oldest place Honeypool could remember living in- a riverbank.

Among the shale, she had hurt her paws many times, but always brushed it off and kept running, clambering over the rocks to chase after her sister. The slippery green algae that grew where the water ran shallow over the rocks smelled pretty bad, and it was slimy, so Honeykit avoided it, but Dewkit always ignored it. This led to her falling down a lot, but she didn't care. Dewkit was no stranger to scoldings after coming home all banged and bruised up, dripping with water, algae sliding down her ruffled pelt. Honeykit always said she had only been trying to stop her rambunctious sister, but she'd been just as reckless and carefree.

Specklestone let them explore out of the nursery even when they were tiny as long as Emberpaw went with them, mainly because she wanted to spend more time alone with Squirreltail. But Emberpaw had been too busy crushing on her young mentor Bearpelt to want to hang out with kits, and she'd leave them to their own devices. Dewkit had found the willow the day before Acornstar had announced that they had to leave the river.

It was a beautiful river, and a beautiful place, but there were too many twolegs in the area. As newleaf sprouted into greenleaf, they only increased in number, often coming a little too close to the old fox burrow that RogueClan- although it hadn't had a name back then- used as a "camp". You could have hardly called them a Clan at all back in those days. They had no deputy and no medicine cat- Frostglaze liked his herbs, but he loved his mate, and she loved to watch him fight and hunt.

When Acornstar announced they had to leave, Honeykit was devastated. She had just discovered a brand-new willow tree to play in! But she told Dewkit that they had no choice. The rock-wall-cave was fun too. The rock-wall ended up being fun to climb. The first time that Honeykit had climbed to the top, she saw a willow tree up there, too. She was about to check if it was the same one, not realizing as a kit that that was impossible, but Squirreltail called her down, saying that a new cat had just come into camp and Acornstar had called a meeting.

Dewkit had seen the willow, too, because she had gotten to the top first. She said that it looked just like the one from the river, but Honeykit told her to be quiet because Acornstar was talking.

The new cat was a gray tabby with brown stripes. He was young, but he looked old enough to be a 'paw. Dewkit whispered that he was handsome, but Honeykit wasn't so sure. His stripes were attractive, and his single green eye was a lovely shape, and his scars were pretty cool, but he seemed too serious. Maybe if he had a brother…

"My name is Striker," said the cat. "Will you take me in? I've got nowhere else to go."

"We'll consider it," Acornstar replied.

The next day, Striker became Strikepaw. Dewkit kept looking for excuses to spend time with him, but Honeykit couldn't care less. She wanted to see the willow again. Eventually Strikepaw became Strikepelt, and Dewkit lost interest, deciding that the age gap was too big. She started padded after Emberpaw instead, even after she became a warrior as well. Honeykit only wanted to climb to the top of the rock wall to see the willow once more.

He waited until Honeykit and Dewkit were six moons old, and then made them apprentices. The night before they became apprentices, Dewkit followed Honeykit up to the willow and they slept beneath its branches.

They were so happy to become apprentices. Dewpaw jokingly purred, "Honeypaw, do you realize what this means? We can finally go outside of camp!" Honeypaw laughed because they'd been going out of camp to play on their own since they could barely open their eyes.

Then Dewpaw was taken. Misfortune fell onto the Clan in another way as well; Acornstar got sick and everything changed. Honeypaw's world was falling apart around her. Once she got to the top of the rock-wall again and climbed up the willow. That willow was such a lovely thing that she could hardly understand it. Why was it so radiant and silver? Its leaves were long and flawless; its branches supple and flowing, like the river that she still missed. There was a little creek that ran by the rock-wall-cave, and it wasn't much, but it was enough.

When Acornstar was dying, he told Strikepelt to lead after him. Strikepelt gave himself the name of Strikestar at less than a year old. His first action as leader was to leave the rock-wall-cave. Bearpelt and Emberfur had just decided they wanted to have kits, and they insisted they stay. Honeypaw wanted to stay too. But Strikestar told them that there was a better place that he knew of. So they left, and Honeypaw was forced to leave behind the empty grave that she and her family had made for Dewpaw. They barely travelled for half a day before Strikestar told them they had made it. This place was a connected series of tiny thunderpaths that twolegs walked along rather than monsters. But there was a willow here too, although it was on the other side of the lake that Strikestar settled them down by. There were a lot of geese there. Honeypaw hated it. She decided that if she was ever going to tell someone about her life, she'd just pretend that the goose-lake never existed, and that she'd gone straight from the river to the rock-wall-cave to wherever they went next.

By the time Honeypaw became Honeypool, she was more than sick of the lake, but at least there were some good things in the world. Emberfur's kits, Fishkit and Mothkit, were almost ready to be apprenticed. But when Fishpaw and Mothpaw had been apprentices for a couple of moons, another bought of the sickness that had killed Acornstar struck the Clan. This time one of the senior warriors died. Mothpaw was so devastated that he ran away.

Honeypool couldn't help but be reminded of Dewpaw when she saw Fishpaw sitting there sniveling. Strikestar was becoming restless, and after Frostglaze's mate had kits, he announced that they were going to be leaving again.

This time, they went to many different places, but they never stopped and settled down anywhere for more than a week or so at a time. Frostglaze lost his mate while they hid out in a twolegplace- she was killed by a band of vicious rogues. When he saw them, Strikestar stiffened. It seemed as if something was falling into place in his brain.

"I know where we must go," he said. "It's a black spruce forest where twolegs walk. There is a thunderpath, and on the other side…" He hesitated. "Do not go to the other side. It's a fair distance, but it's where we're meant to be. I know it."

It was several days' journey, but as soon as Honeypool saw that willow tree she knew that Strikestar was right. Fate was drawing her there.

Strikestar sent her out to scout out the area for hostile cats, and for suitable places to live. She had passed through a place that looked decent, but she'd smelled another cat, so she was wary. But it was getting late, and she was tired from doing all that walking. She slept in a hollowed-out tree stump.

When she woke up, a young gray tabby with a missing eye was staring back at her quizzically.

…And that's how you met that Rubblefang guy?" Dewdrop mewed. "Wow. You know, I'd almost forgotten about those other willow trees. I never got to see the one across the lake, but to be honest, that lake sounds awful. I have no clue what was going through Strikestar's head. Plus, you said he led RogueClan through twolegplace? So if it wasn't for him, Frostglaze might not have lost his mate, right?"

"Maybe," Honeypool admitted, shrugging. "But anyway, um, yeah, here's the tree I was telling you so much about. Is it pretty or what?"

Dewdrop nodded. She sniffed at the stick that had been propped up at the base.

"I guess we can get rid of this stick, huh?" Honeypool purred. "I mean, there's not much sense in having a grave for a living cat."

"Yeah," Dewdrop muttered, seeming suddenly preoccupied. "Hey, Honeypool, you'd still love me if I did something bad, right?"

"Of course," Honeypool meowed, surprised that Dewdrop would even ask that question. "You're my sister! Cats should always love their kin, no matter what they do. Plus, I can't blame you if the Alliance made you do some bad stuff."

"Good," she murmured. "Because, well, there's something I think you might want to know…"

Dewdrop leaned up to Honeypool and whispered ever so softly in her ear, "I dug a hole so that a cat could trip over it and get tangled up in the brambles if they weren't paying attention."

The weight of the confession didn't hit Honeypool at first. But then she remembered… Strikestar had only been killed by the branch because he'd been tangled up in the brambles! Shock spiked through Honeypool, freezing her in place. Dewdrop had been responsible…

Well, no, she hadn't exactly been responsible. It had only been a prank, surely. How could Dewdrop have known when the branch was going to fall?

"And then," Dewdrop went on, her breath soft and warm against Honeypool's ear, "I went and I loosened up a branch above the brambles so that it would be easier to snap off."

"Wh-what…" Honeypool gulped. Did she really want to know what Dewdrop had done next?

"And then I climbed up higher in the tree and shook the snow off the higher branches," Dewdrop purred, her mew curling around Honeypool like smoke. "All that heavy snow landed on the branch I'd loosened. Once Strikestar got stuck, I climbed back down, making sure to put a little extra weight on the branch before jumping down. I guess all that weight pressing down on the branch was just too heavy, so it snapped off the tree. Now isn't that a shame?"

Honeypool couldn't move. She had no idea what emotion to feel. Anger would make sense, she supposed. Anger that she had lost her leader. Anger that she had found her long-lost sister only to find out that she had been the one to kill the leader. But Honeypool felt nothing. It was like there was a void inside her that had opened up; a swirling pit of darkness that grew wider with Dewdrop's every word.

"You do understand my reason for doing it, right?" Dewdrop asked sweetly, fluttering her eyelids. "Mist just wouldn't accept that I was the heir as long as the biological prince was alive. I couldn't have that, Honeypool. You see why I had no choice but to eliminate the prince, don't you?"

"He didn't need to die," Honeypool snarled. "Strikestar had sworn that he would never return to the Alliance! And Mist understood that! It hurt her to see that her son despised her so, but she accepted his wishes. There was no reason for you to kill him!"

Dewdrop regarded Honeypool wistfully.

"I shouldn't have told you," she sighed. "I should have known you wouldn't understand."

Of course Honeypool didn't understand! There was no excuse for what Dewdrop had done. Such an elaborate setup meant that she had planned well ahead of time to kill Strikestar. Honeypool should have known- Dewdrop was still an Alliance cat, after all. But she was separate from the rest of the Alliance. She did things differently. And she was Honeypool's sister. It had been foolish and naïve of Honeypool to think that Dewdrop was still a good cat. But she had hoped so hard… and the softness of Dewdrop's words had made it all too easy to believe that it was true.

Those cats who'd attacked Strikestar the previous day … they must have been sent by Dewdrop. When they'd failed, she must have decided to take matters into her own paws. Rubblefang's valiant rescue had been for nothing. And the way that Strikestar had seemed so paranoid, and been in such a hurry to make Rubblefang a warrior- he'd known his death was coming! Honeypool wanted to throw herself to the ground in frustration. Why hadn't that furball told her?! RogueClan was loyal to Strikestar. If he hadn't been so proud, they could have protected him…!

"I see you're taking it pretty hard." Dewdrop's voice sounded genuinely sympathetic. Honeypool felt the ball of knotted rage in her chest loosen, but then she reminded herself that Dewdrop had been the one who'd killed him. "I thought you'd be happier, sister. This would have made you the leader now."

"That doesn't make it any less-" Honeypool broke off, the meaning of Dewdrop's words dawning on her. "…What do you mean 'would have'?"

She felt that she already knew, but despite knowing better- Dewdrop had already killed Strikestar; she was a murderer- Honeypool couldn't help but feel utterly baffled by the concept that her own sister wanted to kill her. But she could tell by the glint in Dewdrop's pretty blue eyes as she took a step closer that that was, indeed, the answer.

"I told you my little secret, sister," Dewdrop mewed apologetically. "Unless you can promise not to tell anyone else, which I don't trust you not to do, I can't let you walk away from this spot."

Dewdrop's pelt shimmered in the moonlight. Darkness overtook the forest quickly in leaf-bare, although it was close to newleaf now. Stars dotted the sky, looking pale compared to the glow of Dewdrop's fangs.

"Don't touch me," Honeypool hissed. "You may be an Alliance princess, but I am a warrior. I can fight as well as you can."

Dewdrop hesitated, her eyes round with regret. Honeypool's muscles were tense, and she held her breath, studying her sister's movements. Just when she almost allowed herself to think that Dewdrop wouldn't do it, she sprung, her dog fang-claws aiming for Honeypool's throat. Honeypool jumped back, ducking and dodging her blows, reluctant to retaliate but becoming more certain every second that she had no other choice.

Honeypool pressed herself low to the ground. Dewdrop stood over her for an instant before Honeypool exploded up from underneath her, guilt slamming in her chest as she felt her claws tug at Dewdrop's belly fur. Dewdrop squealed like a kit, flailing around wildly at Honeypool while she pinned her down and brought her teeth down to her exposed neck.

"Do you surrender?" she growled, hoping the answer would be yes.

Dewdrop whimpered something that Honeypool couldn't make out as a reply.

"I said," Honeypool repeated, digging her claws into her sister's chest fur, "do you surrender?!"

"I do," Dewdrop gasped. Honeypool let go of her and she scrambled away, panting.

"Dewdrop… it's still not too late for you." Honeypool wished she could truly believe what she was saying, but she knew now more than ever that she really had lost her sister that day. "You could join RogueClan, if you want. Disband the Alliance, and come live with me. I can teach you how to do things the warrior way. The code is hard to follow, but RogueClan is pretty flexible. It's not too late."

Dewdrop's eyes glistened- not with malice this time, but sadness. She stood up and padded to Honeypool's side. Then, to her surprise, she buried her face in Honeypool's fluffy chest fur, sobbing.

"I've done so many bad things," she wailed, shaking as she pressed her hunched-over figure up against Honeypool. "You shouldn't forgive me, Honeypool; not after all I've done."

"It's okay," Honeypool murmured gently. She let herself believe, truly believe, in that moment that things really were okay. "You're my sister. I have to forgive you."

"Are you sure?" she sniffled.

"Of course I'm sure."

And Honeypool really was sure. She really did let herself think, even for a second, that her sister was a good guy again. She had her sister back after all this time, and now nothing could keep them apart.

So Honeypool, in her moment of selfish, foolish bliss, let her guard down. She rested her muzzle on Dewdrop's forehead, calm and secure and happy. It didn't even cross her mind that Dewdrop was slowly lifting a paw, its movement graceful and steady despite the rest of her body trembling and crying. She had closed her eyes, so she didn't notice the paw reaching up. She felt it press against her neck fur.

The soft, subtle sound of claws being unsheathed met Honeypool's ears a second too late for her to pull away. Three sharp, jagged dog fangs dug into Honeypool's throat as she jerked backwards, shock pulsing through her body as blood spilled down her neck.

"Fooled you," Dewdrop whispered softly as Honeypool's vision went dark.


	32. Chapter 32

The last smudges of indigo twilight had vanished from the sky. It was night; the moon was high in the sky. Dewdrop and Honeypool still hadn't returned with the coniferous branches they had promised to fetch. Impatient murmurs spread through the gathered cats. Finally, Squirreltail spoke up. He had never been the type Rubblefang would peg for a leader, but he was the most senior warrior, so he supposed it made sense.

"Moonhigh draws closer every second," the ginger tom announced, garnering a few surprised glances when he moved to stand next to the stump that Strikestar had stood on to address the Clan. He raised his front paw as though he were going to hop up onto the stump, but he didn't, lowering his paw to the snowy ground. "My daughters have yet to return. I say we should go looking for them."

Rubblefang couldn't help but agree. It shouldn't take so long to gather branches. Of course Dewdrop and Honeypool might have stopped to talk a bit, but not to that extent… they'd been gone for hours already! He was beginning to feel that his fears about Dewdrop were justified. What if she really did want to hurt Honeypool?

"We should go look," Squirreltail repeated, worry clouding his dark eyes. "And we still need to bury Strikestar. Fishleap, have you finished digging a grave?"

Fishleap nodded. He had been assigned to the task of digging the grave since there were no apprentices in the Clan at the time. Rubblefang might have wanted to help, but he still felt numb with grief. But now that Squirreltail had brought up the matter of Honeypool, the cloud of grief for his brother began to part to reveal a storm of worry for Honeypool. What if something had happened to her? He had to go make sure she was okay.

 _She's fine_ , he told himself. _Honeypool is an adult. She can take care of herself._

As the dreary voices of his Clanmates lapped around him like calm waves against the shore, Rubblefang let himself drift into a brief, restless sleep.

 _There was a cat in the forest! Rogue was so excited when he picked up the traces of cat-scent left over from the previous night that he didn't stop to think that it might be a mean cat. He scampered down his tree and into the woods, following the scent of the new cat. The scent led him to a small brook where a wiry ginger tom sat, sticking his paw in the water._

 _"There's no fish in there," Rogue called to the tom. "If you want to get some food, there's a little wood structure made by twolegs where birds like to hang around."_

 _The wiry ginger tom glanced up. He froze when he saw Rogue, muttering a string of curses under his breath._

 _"What'n tarnation are ya, boy?" he spat. "Are ya one o' them demon kits come to steal me soul through that unholy void ya got 'stead've an eye?!"_

 _"No, I'm just a normal cat," Rogue mewed. "I'm missing an eye, but that doesn't mean-"_

 _But the wiry tom hissed at Rogue, backing away with fear in his eyes. Rogue wanted to run after him, but Boss had warned him about this. Not every cat was a friend. Some cats just didn't understand._

 _He heard Boss's voice inside his head-_ "It's a pretty awful world, Rogue. Be grateful you've got me." _But Rogue didn't have Boss anymore. That voice was so loud and clear in his head, though… wait! He could hear the voice for real! It was coming from just up ahead!_

 _Rogue began to run, not toward the wiry ginger tom who's cursed at him, but toward the familiar scent of the older gray tom. He could see him standing on that hill!_

 _"I found you!" Rogue called._

 _"You're too late," Strikestar replied._

 _The hill he was standing on began to tremble. The earth split and Strikestar didn't even try to move. He simply let himself fall, down into the abyss, staring at Rouge- or was he Rubblefang? Or was he simply Rubble, the lost prince of the Alliance? He didn't know anymore._

 _The ground returned to normal and now it was Honeypool at the top of the slope, and Rubblefang was trying and trying to run up, but he kept slipping down. He could see Dewdrop standing behind her, telling her to jump. But now the hill was a mountainside, which Rubblefang couldn't climb no matter how hard he tried, and it was all he could manage to simply avoid skidding down to the rocks below. Dewdrop told Honeypool to jump once again. Rubblefang yelled and yelled to her, but no words came out. Honeypool closed her eyes and stepped into thin air, seeming to float for a fraction of an instant before tumbling to the ground far below._

Rubblefang shot awake, gasping. The still mound of fur that had been lying beside him was gone. The moon was high in the sky, and the camp was deserted. His Clanmates had gone to bury Strikestar.

He couldn't blame them for not waiting for him. The notion of a burial seemed wrong to Rubblefang anyway, as if seeing the dirt close around the body would make the death more real. He had already seen the ground close around Strikestar in his dream. He didn't need to watch it again.

But what he did need to do was find Honeypool. His dream had reignited his certainty that she was in trouble. Rubblefang crept out of camp to look for her.

Once in the woods, all Rubblefang could think of was Dewdrop's voice, so casual after watching Strikestar die. That cat was untrustworthy; he was certain of it. He knew Honeypool wouldn't believe him if he told her so, but Rubblefang knew that she was wrong to trust the heir to the throne of the Alliance, even if they were kin. Rubblefang hadn't always gotten along well with Strikestar. In fact, Strikestar had tried to kill him immediately after escaping the Alliance. Rubblefang still didn't understand why, and now he would never know.

Rubblefang was awake now, yet waking dreams still flashed through his mind. Himself as a kit, being carried by Strikestar; Strikestar standing over him and pressing his head under the water; Honeypool as a new apprentice not daring to look back as she heard her sister's wails; Dewdrop training under Arrow; Rubblefang being found by Boss; Boss leaving him to fend for himself; seeing Honeypool for the first time, her eye narrow with distrust; Dewdrop being alive making her so happy; Strikestar avoiding Rubblefang's questions right up until the sound of wood splitting rang across the camp and it was too late to ask him. He knew that he couldn't let Honeypool down the same way.

He took off faster, snow spraying up behind him. It was like running back to camp too late to save Strikestar all over again. But this time he would be on time, he told himself. He knew where to go- the willow tree. Dewdrop had constantly been pestering Honeypool to show her the willow tree. That was where he would find them, he knew it.

The scent of sap filled Rubblefang's half-open mouth. He stopped for just long enough to see a pile of coniferous branches, abandoned in a snowdrift. Honeypool's scent trail led just where he thought it would. It was the same path he had taken only weeks before, though it felt like years, when he'd first found out that Honeypool had a sister.

The silvery glow of the willow was just barely visible through the brush. No yowls split the air this time, but the scent of blood began to seep into the wind. Rubblefang stopped before passing through the last line of trees into the clearing where the willow stood, it branches swaying gently around Dewdrop and Honeypool. Rubblefang watched them from the snow-dusted underbrush. He couldn't see what was going on at first; they simply appeared to be sharing an emotional moment. Dewdrop pressed her paw against Honeypool, who rested her muzzle on her head. Rubblefang let himself think for a second that he had simply imagined the bloodscent.

But the yellow-white glint of dog fangs, so tiny and yet instantly recognizable, became visible. They protruded from Dewdrop's paw, sinking into Honeypool's neck. The fang-enhanced claws were withdrawn a moment later as Honeypool yanked herself away, blood welling up at three ragged holes in her neck.

An ear-piercing yowl rang through the forest. It took Rubblefang a moment to recognize the voice as his own. He barely felt himself burst through the treeline, charging at Dewdrop. The fury that shot up in him didn't feel like a fire, spreading and dancing in a wall toward Dewdrop. It felt more like a blanket of snow, blocking out the world.

All he could see was Honeypool taking a staggering step backwards as Dewdrop whispered something. The horror on Honeypool's face was sickening to look upon to Rubblefang. Somehow that expression was even more horrifying to him than her eyes slowly glazing over as she didn't even try to gasp for breath. She simply fell.

"Honeypool!" Rubblefang heard himself shouting her name, but it was like he was watching himself do these things. He saw himself at her side, looking on in horror as the life drained from her.

"Oh, this is even better than I could have imagined," Dewdrop purred. "Lost prince #2 has decided to make an appearance! I never imagined I would be so lucky as to eliminate all of my competition in one night."

"Why would you do this?!" Rubblefang demanded. "Honeypool wasn't even part of the Alliance. You didn't need to harm her just to make sure you'd still be the heir!"

"I told her something I shouldn't have," Dewdrop sighed. "It was my mistake, really. But it doesn't concern you. It's time to see to it that you meet the same fate as your brother."

Was she saying… she had been responsible for Strikestar's death? Rubblefang couldn't even comprehend how or why Dewdrop had come to be so malicious. He would have expected better from Honeypool's kin.

In one quick, fluid motion, Dewdrop lashed out, flinging Rubblefang backward. She had cut his muzzle, but it didn't even seem to hurt. It was nothing compared to what she'd done to Honeypool- and Strikestar. He let himself flop onto the ground even though he could have easily stayed standing if he'd wanted to.

"If you don't want to fight me, then you're out of luck," Dewdrop snarled. "Lying down isn't going to fool me into thinking you're dead, you know. I will make it so that no cat stands between me and the throne."

Rubblefang hadn't been trying to trick Dewdrop; he simply hadn't seen the point in fighting back. But she was right. He would have to fight her sooner or later. Now was no worse a time than any.

He didn't move just yet, though. Instead, he remained still, his eye fixed on Dewdrop's dainty white paws. Her right front paw was still stained with the blood of his friend. Rubblefang wanted to rip her into pieces, but he knew he'd just get himself killed. Instead, he waited until she was on top of him, rearing up on her hind legs. Then he stuck out his hind leg, kicking her in the ankle and tripping her up.

While she was recovering, he quickly ran back to Honeypool. Somehow there was still the tiniest flicker of life left in her, but it was draining so quickly that Rubblefang knew he couldn't save her. Her jaw was moving ever so slightly, as if she was trying to tell him something, but no words came out. The willow branches brushed against the tips of Rubblefang's ears and suddenly something strongly compelled him to push Honeypool up against the trunk of the tree. She lay limply over its roots while the last speck of life vanished from her body. Rubblefang turned away. He couldn't bear to see it.

And so he didn't see it as a faint light began to shimmer from between the cracks in the bark, illuminated by moonlight.


	33. Chapter 33

Dewdrop was upon Rubblefang in seconds. He surrendered completely to her claws and fangs. He'd lost the two cats he cared about most to Dewdrop. It would only fit for her to end him as well.

Then, just as suddenly as she'd attacked him, Dewdrop let him go. Rubblefang dropped away from her grip, watching her face go through several emotions in rapid succession- first confusion, then shock, then a slow realization, and finally fear. The fear on her face was what confused Rubblefang the most. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on the willow tree. Rubblefang rose to his paws and arched his back, but Dewdrop was already running away, casting a terrified glance back behind her.

Rubblefang turned around. He was instantly met by a blinding silvery-blue light. It illuminated the forest night like a thousand stars. Meanwhile, the actual stars suddenly seemed far brighter than they had been moments ago. It was too bright for him to tell what was going on, but he knew at once that it was something magical.

He cast a final glace back to Dewdrop. Why was she so afraid of this light? The only thing that the glow didn't touch was the willow tree. Its silver bark looked white against the pale blue glow, swirling and twirling and growing in spirals and arcs around the motionless figure below it.

And as Rubblefang watched, the willow tree became a path. Its branches were a sloping hill dotted with stars for leaves, and cats began to walk down it from the sky. Their bodies were transparent and shone with starlight, but they were cats nonetheless; mere outlines at first, but then more real-looking. They were all cats Rubblefang had never seen before.

"Who are you?" he called to them, knowing full well it was a foolish question. He knew who these cats were, and he knew why they were there, although he could hardly believe it.

The cats gave no answer. Either they were ignoring Rubblefang, or they didn't hear him at all. They circled around Honeypool, and as Rubblefang watched with bated breath, a starry outline of her rose from her physical body. She looked puzzled to see the spirit-cats.

"Hello, Honeypool." One of the cats spoke. Rubblefang didn't recognize them, but Honeypool must have, because her eyes widened in disbelief. "It's a pleasure to see you again, my dear."

"Ripplestream?" Honeypool's starlit figure shimmered as she took a step back. "Wh-what…?" She paused, her shoulders sagging. "Oh… am I dead?"

"That's a good guess, but it seems that you got lucky," the spirit-cat called Ripplestream purred. The pelt and eye colours on the spirit-cats were pale and muted, but Rubblefang could see that they were (had been?) an elderly blue-gray tabby she-cat. "And you owe it to your friend over there."

The spirit-cats opened up a gap in the crowd so that she could see Rubblefang. He felt a bit self-conscious having all of these dead cats staring at him, so he shuffled his paws in the snow a bit, staring at the ground.

"Rubblefang?" Honeypool gazed at him, eyes wide. "You… saved me somehow?"

"All I did was move her so she was touching the tree," Rubblefang muttered. "I didn't know it was going to cause… well, all of this. I'm super glad it did, though," he added quickly. "So, uh, what happens to Honeypool now?"

"The life she had up until now has been ended," Ripplestream murmured mysteriously. "But since she has come to this willow, now is as good a time as any for her leader ceremony, wouldn't you say?"

"I agree," a calm voice from the back of the crowd said. Rubblefang gasped as a cat he did know stepped forward, his tabby pelt dusted with starlight now rather than blood as he'd last seen it.

Honeypool's reaction mirrored Rubblefang's. Strikestar smiled back at her, his eyes carrying a trace of regret but also pride. Wait- his _eyes_? Yes; as a spirit-cat he had both eyes! Rubblefang wanted to cry from happiness. His brother wasn't really gone at all; he was safe and happy among the spirit-cats.

"As my deputy, it is now your turn to become Clan leader," Strikestar said to Honeypool. "I was a fool and did not believe in spirit-cats. I never was a true leader in their eyes; I never received the nine lived that Clan leaders should have. But you will."

Honeypool's eyes watered. Rubblefang watched as one spirit-cat after another stepped forward and rested their muzzle on her head. He strained his ears, but their words were silent to him. Honeypool must have heard them, though, because she was talking back in an identically silent manner. Rubblefang didn't understand how the words were being blocked out, but he supposed it was because he wasn't part of the ceremony. Each time a spirit-cat touched their muzzle to Honeypool's forehead, she shuddered, a faintly coloured glow that was a different colour each time surrounded her for a second, and her pale outline became a bit more opaque. Rubblefang didn't recognize any of the cats, although one was a yellow she-cat who looked like she could have been the mother of Yellowkit and Daisykit, and one was a russet tom to whom Honeypool bowed her head when he appeared- perhaps that was Acornstar.

Finally, it was Strikestar's turn. After he touched his muzzle to Honeypool's head, sending up a dazzling aurora of light brighter than any of the previous times, he didn't step back like the rest of the spirit-cats who'd given her lives. Instead, he split from the rest of the spirit-cats and padded over to Rubblefang, leaving behind no pawprints in the snow where he stepped.

"I'm sorry I had to leave you so early," he said quietly. "I knew from the start that Dewdrop had been corrupted beyond redemption, and that Honeypool couldn't trust her. But I couldn't bring myself to tell her. She was so happy to be with her sister again that I stood back and allowed Dewdrop to have me killed."

Rubblefang swallowed. Strikestar had wanted to protect Honeypool from the truth about her sister, and in doing so it had led to his own death. It was such a selfless thing to have done- and a mouse-brained thing, too. But there was one thing Rubblefang hadn't gotten a chance to ask Strikestar about before that he needed to ask now.

"When we were kits and you escaped from the Alliance," Rubblefang began, struggling to keep his voice steady, "you tried to drown me. Why?"

"I knew you'd ask that, and I hoped I would never have to answer. But I think it is time that you knew," Strikestar sighed. "The reason was that I was jealous of you, Rubblefang. You stole all the attention away from me. I thought if I ran away and drowned you, Mist would find me and find your body and I'd say it was an accident, and then she'd have no choice but to call me her favourite kit. But she didn't find me, and I just kept on walking."

"Do you regret it?"

"If you really had died, I would have," Strikestar murmured. "But for the life it brought you, I'm glad. It's better than the life you would have had if you'd stayed with me. I was starving most of the time, and I had no idea how to take care of a kit. I was barely more than a kit myself. The irony is that if I _hadn't_ tried to kill you, you probably would have ended up dying."

Rubblefang felt like he should laugh at that observation, but the entire notion of spirit-cats really existing, and Strikestar now walking among them, was too overwhelming for him to feel any emotion other than confusion and awe at the beautiful spectacle that was Honeypool's leader ceremony.

Strikestar turned to walk away.

"Wait," Rubblefang called, suddenly feeling like a kit again, wondering where Boss had gone. "Don't go yet. You have so many more things to tell me! What are the sprit-cats? How do they work? What's this whole nine lives thing?"

"You will learn in time. But for now I must leave you," Strikestar meowed. "You're a good cat, Rubblefang. You were never meant to be a prince, just as I was never meant to be a king. But RogueClan is your home now, and I want you to always remember that."

"I would never dream of leaving RogueClan," Rubblefang mewed, and he knew as he said it that he meant it with every fibre of his being. "I don't hate Mist as much as you do, but she's the only cat there who cares for me. Even Arrow seems fairly indifferent."

"I always thought so." Strikestar smiled sadly. "Rubblefang, I made you a warrior before you were ready. It's too late to undo it now, but I want you to know that you will grow into your name in time. You're older than you are in many ways, and younger in others, and…" He broke off, shaking his head. "I'm not that good with words, and I have to go now, but Rubblefang, I don't want there to be any doubt in your mind that I'm proud of you. You're a good brother, and a mighty warrior."

"Thank you," Rubblefang murmured, overcome with a rush of emotions. "G-goodbye, Strikestar. I'll look for you among the stars."

With a wave of his tail, Strikestar turned and walked away, rejoining with the group of other spirit-cats. He stopped to say a few words to Honeypool. Then he and the others changed, their individual pelts blending together in a starry silver wave. They climbed back up the silver path to the sky, the glow fading back into darkness.

Rubblefang sat back on his haunches, letting out a long breath. At the bottom of the willow tree, the starry outline of Honeypool turned to blink at Rubblefang, looking a bit scared. Then she slowly shut her eyes and the starry outline floated down, overlapping into the body that lay sprawled across the roots. Rubblefang noticed that as the two figures became one once more, the holes in the neck of her physical form vanished, sealing up as though they had never been there at all.

The starry leaves of the willow tree faded away to leave the branches bare again, and those branches hung back as they had before, looking like an ordinary tree and not a path to the stars. Everything had returned to normal. Rubblefang immediately ran to Honeypool's side, relieved to see the steady rise and fall of her chest.

Honeypool's eyes blinked open, hazy and unfocused at first, but quickly becoming sharp and angry. A growl rose in her throat as she rolled over and got back on her paws, her fur rippling with rage. Rubblefang jumped back, intimidated. Was she mad at him?

"H-Honeypool-" he stammered. She turned to face him, and when she did her fur flattened and her eyes became warm and bright as he knew them to be.

"Rubblefang…" She gazed at him without speaking for a moment before asking, "You saw all that?"

"I did," he mewed. "So, what are you going to do now, Honeypool? Are you going to go back to camp? Everybody's worried about you now because you were out so long."

"Actually, it's Honeystar now," she meowed, turning her head to reveal the pale outline of a star shape emblazoned on her left ear. "And as for what I'm going to do, I'd think it should be obvious."

She began to walk, her muscles rippling under her fur. Rubblefang had been so horrified when he'd thought he'd lost her that now he saw her alive again- and a Clan leader at that- he was overtaken by just how beautiful she was. And she wasn't just beautiful; she wouldn't have made a very good mentor if that had been the case. She was confident, powerful, passionate, and a natural leader. Rubblefang could think of no better cat than Honeystar to inherit RogueClan.

"But wait- what are you going to do?" Rubblefang still didn't understand. He walked alongside her, trying his best to match her brisk pace. "I hope it's nothing too dangerous. The spirit-cats may have just given you a whole bunch of lives, but you still need to be careful with every one of them!"

"I'll be careful, Rubblefang; you can count on it." Honeystar cast her gaze to the stars above. Was she looking for the cats who'd come down to speak with her? "But there's something I must do. I have to kill Dewdrop."


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Yikes, I made this chapter (and this whole story, too) a lot longer than I expected. It'll be wrapping up soon, though. I played around with different perspectives even more in this chapter. I hope you like it!**

The cats of RogueClan huddled around the hole where the body of their leader had just been lowered into. They had made the grave over by the marshes- halfway between RogueClan and Alliance land, but still on the RogueClan side. It had felt appropriate.

"I still think we should have woken Rubblefang up before doing this," Fishleap muttered to his parents. "He should be here for his brother's burial."

It was surprising how much Fishleap had come to like Rubblefang, although he rarely showed those feelings to his face. The war against the Alliance had been taxing on all of RogueClan, and it had brought them closer together in ways they hadn't even noticed.

"Rubblefang was tired," Emberfur murmured. "And he was so shaken up… seeing Strikestar being buried might have traumatized him even further."

"Well, he's not a kit," Fishleap objected, raising his voice and garnering a few disgruntled looks from his Clanmates. "He could have handled it. Besides, we left him by himself in the camp! What if a fox or something shows up?"

"We moved him to his nest before leaving," Bearpelt pointed out. "I doubt it would be worth it for a predator to pick through those thorns just to get at one cat."

"If they were hungry it would be."

"I suppose you're right," Bearpelt admitted. "I guess I'm just trying not to worry about him too much. And you shouldn't either, okay?"

The sound of paws running through the soft, wet ground of the marsh caught the attention of a few cats. Dewdrop burst through a gap in the reeds, panting. Her pelt was streaked with blood and dirt.

"Dewdrop, you're finally back!" Specklestone rushed over to her daughter, concerned. "What took you so long?" She paused, her eyes widening. "…A-and where's Honeypool?!"

"We were in the woods gathering branches, and…" Dewdrop gulped. "An owl swooped down from a tree and tried to grab me! Honeypool fought it off, but…"

"…But?"

"Honeypool fought off the owl, but while she was fighting it, it sunk its talons into her neck!" Dewdrop wailed. "I ran back to the camp as fast as I could, but you were already gone, so I followed your scents to here."

"What?!" Squirreltail stood, his tail lashing. "Is she alive?!"

"She was when I last saw her," Dewdrop sniffled. "I think she'll be okay. I just wanted to come let you guys know. Oh, and when I went back to the camp, I saw that Rubblefang was gone too. I think he went looking for us."

Worry darkened the eyes of Squirreltail and Specklestone, as well as every other cat there.

"We should go make sure Dewdrop's diagnosis is correct," Frostglaze muttered darkly. "And let's hope that owl didn't come back for Rubblefang."

"You're going to kill Dewdrop?!" Rubblefang could hardly believe his ears. "But she's your sister!"

"If she didn't have any hang-ups about murdering me, why should I have any about doing the same to her?" Honeystar growled, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she marched through the snowy forest. "You heard her, didn't you, Rubblefang? She's the one behind Strikestar's death. Wouldn't you want her dead too?"

"I'm not her kin, though," Rubblefang mumbled. "You are."

"I'm not her kin anymore." Honeystar's vivid green eyes flashed with defiance. "She betrayed me. It's no different from how your brother felt about Mist. But we're not kin either, so I suppose you think I'm different."

"Well, I'd say it's pretty good we're not kin," Rubblefang blurted out without thinking. "I mean, it'd be pretty gross if we were, right?"

"What are you meowing about?" She stopped and stared at him.

"Well, y'know…" Rubblefang felt a hot prickling feeling in his chest. "Since we aren't kin, we're just like any other two cats."

"How so?"

"Well, there's the potential there. It's like, you're a she-cat, and I'm a tom. Not that there's anything wrong with it when it's a different combination! But for me that's how it'd have to be, I think." Rubblefang regretted every word that popped out of his mouth, but he couldn't force himself to stop babbling. "We can be friends, or we can… not be friends. I don't mean like enemies; I mean like… other cats, like, you know, doing stuff together. But not just normal stuff. I mean, nothing too weird! But just like…"

To his surprise, Honeystar smiled. Then she began to laugh, letting out a short _prrt_ of amusement. She stopped walking and faced Rubblefang, her whiskers still trembling, but her laughter fading back into a more serious face.

"Rubblefang, do you… have a crush on me?" she asked incredulously.

Rubblefang gulped, his face so hot it felt like his face was already in greenleaf while the rest of his body was still in leaf-bare. What could he say to something like that? Should he deny it? But what if she felt the same way? Then if he said no he'd be passing up a chance, but if he said yes and she didn't like him, he'd never be able to look her in the eye again…

"W-well," he muttered shyly, "I think you're pretty cool. And I like the way you fight, and talk, and laugh, and you're really pretty. So, um, I guess if that's what you want to call it, then… sure, but… if you don't…"

"I think you're a wonderful cat, Rubblefang," Honeystar murmured. "And I'm flattered that you think so highly of me. But this is no time for talk of love. I've just been made Clan leader! I can't take any more excitement tonight. In some time, when we're both a little older, if you still feel that way then, well…" She hesitated, biting her lip. "Well, we'll see what's in store for us."

It wasn't the reply Rubblefang had been hoping for, but it was the best reply he really could have expected. Honeystar started walking again, following the trail that Dewdrop had taken, and Rubblefang did his best to keep up.

Dewdrop knew she was foolish to have run away without killing Rubblefang. When the tree had looked like it was glowing, she'd freaked out and run away. But obviously it had just been the moonlight playing tricks on her. There had been nothing there to be frightened of; only a dead cat, a tree, and a cat who would be dead right now if she hadn't been such a mouse-brained coward.

She had doubted that any of those pathetic "RogueClan" cats would believe her owl story, but they were even more gullible than she'd thought. Still, she seriously doubted the alibi would hold up once they found Honeypool's body and saw no feathers, and smelled no owl scent. So she told the RogueClan cats to follow her back to the willow to "check on Honeypool". Dewdrop ran ahead of them, of course, so that she would get there before them, and perhaps find some owl pellets and move them closer to the willow so her story would be more convincing.

But when she got to the place where she'd killed the cat who had once been her sister, Dewdrop found no body. That was confusing, but it was also a problem. Signs of a struggle but no bodies signs of a struggle and a body that looked like it could have been killed by an owl. That was what Dewdrop thought, at least, but she wasn't the best at calculations. And those RogueClan cats would be getting there any minute.

If there was no body for her to show to RogueClan, teary-eyed and sobbing that she had thought her sister would survive, she'd have to change her cover story. But it was too late to do that. She'd have to run back to the RogueClan cats and make something up fast. If she managed to separate herself from the group for longer, there could still be time to track down and kill Rubblefang. And that was just what Dewdrop had to do next.

Romantic love had never really crossed Honeystar's mind. She had always thought of it as a given thing that would happen to her at some vague point in the ever-distant future, but she had never thought about being with any cat in particular. Love didn't disgust her- no, she thought it was a beautiful thing- but she never gave it much consideration.

Honeystar hadn't even realized she could be in love with Rubblefang until he had brought it up… well, sort of brought it up, sort of flailed around trying to avoid bringing it up while at the same time not doing anything to change the topic. Maybe her mind was still on some kind of insane high from being at the brink of death and then revived as a Clan leader. Maybe it was the way that the stars still twinkled overhead, and now Honeystar knew that each of those stars was really a dead cat. But whatever it was, Rubblefang had never seemed cuter.

He was so young, and that was why she had never considered him as anything other than a friend. Well, he was a young cat, but he was far from a kit. He was a warrior now, and while he didn't exactly look the part, she didn't doubt that he would in a few more moons. Still, until they were both a litter older, she couldn't feel comfortable with returning his feelings. It would seem too much like taking advantage of him.

Besides, she had other things on her mind tonight…

"So, um, are you still going after Dewdrop?" Rubblefang mewed as he padded alongside her.

"Of course I'm still going after her," Honeystar told him as gently as she could. "Don't you see, Rubblefang? It's my duty as the new leader to avenge the death of my predecessor."

"But you're not going to do it alone, are you?" Rubblefang's single eye was wide with concern. "Get your Clanmates to help you. _I_ can help you!"

"No, you can't," she sighed. She wished he could understand why she had to do it alone. "You're too young, and the others probably don't even know where we are right now. If they find out Dewdrop's little secret too, she'll kill them. Oh, sure, they'd have her well outnumbered; she'd be down within minutes. But can you really say that you don't think Dewdrop would be able to kill a few of them first?"

Rubblefang muttered something about "still a bad idea", but Honeystar didn't need the approval of her former apprentice to do what she had to do. She picked up speed, and though Rubblefang tried to match her pace, she eventually overtook him, leaving him yowling after her to come back.

Oh, Honeystar would come back, all right. This wasn't some glorious suicide mission. In fact, it was exactly the opposite of that; Honeystar had nine lives now, which none of her Clanmates did. It would therefore be wiser for her to fight Dewdrop than it would be for any of them to attempt the same.

Maybe she was making too much out of it. Dewdrop couldn't really be all that strong. In fact, the only reason she'd been able to get Honeystar was because she'd let her guard down. But she was good at setting traps- like the one she'd set for Strikestar. How hard would it be to dig a pit, for instance, and cover it with leaves, and then lead RogueClan into the pit? Maybe that was a dumb example, but it was the principle of the thing: lady Dewdrop, princess of the Alliance, was dangerous.

"She's gone?!" Squirreltail snapped. "What do you mean she's gone?!"

"I-I don't know, sir," Dewdrop blubbered, and this time what she was saying was actually the truth. "When I got to the tree where I left her, she wasn't there anymore!"

"Show me," Frostglaze ordered.

Dewdrop led them to the spot where Honeypool's lifeless body had been pushed by her little friend Rubblefang. She didn't get why he'd pushed her up against the tree, but maybe it was some Clan tradition or something.

While the other cats were all staring, dumbfounded, at the spot where Honeypool should have been, a dappled brown she-cat sniffed the air. Dewdrop wasn't very familiar with most of the Alliance, as she preferred to keep separate from the rest of the rabble, but she recognized the cat and her mate as Brownie and Rustle, the cats who'd defected from the Alliance to join RogueClan.

"I smell Rubblefang," Brownie (or did she have some fancy Clan name now? Dewdrop didn't care) mewed. "He must have come here looking for you two. Maybe he's the one who moved Honeypool."

Ah, yes, Brownie still knew how to think like an Alliance cat; a tactician. Of course, she and Rustle had been in the lower, brute-force-using class, but it was still expected of most Alliance cats to have the skill. And the explanation she'd come up with made sense; of course Rubblefang would have taken his dead/dying (depending on which story she stuck with) friend away- possibly back to camp to look for his Clanmates, only to find- no, wait, he'd already known they were gone when he woke up, so he went back to look for… herbs! Yes, that was the assumption Dewdrop would guide these cats into making.

"Perhaps he took her back to camp to give her healing herbs," Dewdrop suggested. "You can go back there and look for him, if you want. I'll stay in the woods in case he got lost or something."

The RogueClan cats agreed, and they went their separate ways. Dewdrop doubted that Rubblefang had really gone back to camp, but she was still worried that they really would find him there, and he'd tell them that Dewdrop had killed Honeypool. If that happened, she'd have to either kill them all or convince them to join the Alliance. And none of them would want to join the Alliance after all that, so… yep, it looked like Dewdrop would be forced to permanently silence any cat who found out.

Rubblefang's scent was getting stronger. Dewdrop began to hear his voice echoing through the trees. It sounded like he was out of breath.

"Hey… (pant) come back! (huff) Wait up, Honeystar!"

Honey _star_? Intrigued, Dewdrop drew closer, following Rubblefang from a few tail-lengths away; hiding behind one tree, running to catch up, and then hiding behind another tree every few seconds. Who was Honeystar? Was she anything like Honeypool? Could she even be the same cat? Dewdrop seemed to remember that the leader of her Clan back when she was a kit had been called Acornstar, and then after that there'd been Strikestar… did all Clan leaders' names end in star? Was Honeypool somehow a leader now?! But she was dead!

What if when the tree had seemed to start glowing, something had happened? Maybe because Strikestar was dead, Honeypool had been made the new leader! Was that why Rubblefang had pushed her up against the tree- had he known it would happen? Or was it just a lucky coincidence?

Then again, maybe he had just been unable to wrap his puny little mind around the death of his friend, and was making up some elaborate fantasy where she was alive, and a leader no less. Well, if that was the case, Dewdrop would do him a favour and help his fantasy along…

Where had Honeystar gone? Rubblefang's legs were getting tired. Why did that cat have to be so proud? She needed his help! Well, maybe Rubblefang wouldn't really be that much help, but he wanted to be. He needed to be there for his friend.

Suddenly, a voice called to him from up above.

"Oh, my dear Rubblefang, I've heard your calls!" It sounded like… Honeystar- but something was different about it. She would never use such flowery words, right? "And so I have returned to see you one last time, my noble warrior."

"Honeystar?" he called tentatively. "Is that really you?"

"That's right, Rubblefang; it's me," the voice continued. It sounded a bit closer to Honeystar's real voice this time. "I speak to you with regret, though; this is the last time you will hear my voice other than in your dreams."

Rubblefang looked around, confused. What was Honeystar going on about? And where was she, anyway? Was she up in a tree? But why would she be up in a tree?

"I don't understand," he mewed. "Why won't you come down and talk to me face-to-face?"

"I'm afraid I can no longer do that, my dear Rubblefang," Honeystar sighed. "I speak to you now from the stars. I thought I could handle Dewdrop, but she proved too strong for me. I did not survive, however much you'd like to convince yourself I did."

Rubblefang's head spun. He gazed up, wide-eyed, at the sky. That couldn't be true!

"B-but you have nine lives now," he sputtered. "Dewdrop only has one! How could she have won?!"

"I'm afraid I didn't have as many lives as you think."

"But you said you had nine lives!" Rubblefang cried, silently pleading that this was all a dream. "Did Dewdrop somehow take them all at once?"

"Hush, Rubblefang!" Honeystar sounded like she was holding back tears. Could spirit-cats cry? "I can't be with you anymore, but you can get closer to me if you wish. Climb the highest tree you can see and you may be able to see me in the sky."

That sounded odd to Rubblefang. He wasn't sure if he should believe her. But if it really was Honeystar, he had to see her beautiful honey-coloured form one last time, even if it was only a starry outline.

And so Rubblefang hoisted himself up the highest tree he could see- a black spruce that was very old. A lot of the branches were dead, so he had to be very careful climbing it, but he made it fairly high up and looked to the stars. He couldn't see Honeystar.

"Climb higher," she whispered. For some reason, her voice sounded a lot closer now, as if she were behind him rather than far above him…

Rubblefang complied, but he still couldn't see her. He was nearly at the top of the tree now, and all the branches were too small to support his weight. Suddenly he heard a rustling sound coming from behind him and he spun around just in time to see Dewdrop lunging at him.

The voice hadn't been Honeystar at all! Rubblefang let out a sigh of relief; that meant she was still alive. But he didn't have much time to be happy, because Dewdrop was upon him at once. That cat must have been an amazing voice artist in order to imitate her sister's voice so closely, even mimicking emotions in a believable way. And now she was on top of Rubblefang, knocking into him and knocking him loose from the trunk of the tree. He clung on with his claws, but Dewdrop dug her claws into his paws, grinning sadistically.

"You…!" Rubblefang hissed.

"Yeah, it was me," she purred. "I've gotta say, Rubblefang, you're a lot more gullible than I thought."

With that, she yanked her claws out of Rubblefang's paws. He scrambled to keep ahold of the bark, but Dewdrop swung her hind legs underneath the branch she hung from and planted a swift kick to the back of his head. Momentarily dazed, Rubblefang let go.

As he fell, Rubblefang didn't even realize that he was crying out Honeystar's name.


	35. Chapter 35

_I'm going to die_. The thought filled Rubblefang's head as the ground rushed up below him. It was a terrifying thought, but bearable. The spirit-cats would welcome him gladly, and he would be reunited with Strikestar. He closed his eye and let himself imagine walking among their ranks for an instant as he braced himself for the inevitable jolt of pain that would come with the landing.

And then he stopped falling. But he was still alive. In fact, he hadn't even landed. It took Rubblefang a second to process what had just happened, but he realized he could feel the sharp tug of fangs digging into his scruff. Then the fangs let go, and he dropped harmlessly to the snow from barely a mouse-length above it. Stunned, Rubblefang looked up, expecting to see Honeystar, or another of his Clanmates.

Instead, he saw his mother.

Mist clung to the tree that Rubblefang had fallen from. She must have jumped up onto the tree as he was falling and grabbed him just in time. That made twice she had saved him. She hopped down from the tree and faced Rubblefang, relief clouding her eyes.

"I'm so glad you're alright," she breathed. "I don't care what Arrow thinks; I couldn't stand to lose both my sons to his darling lady Dewdrop."

"Mist, I-" Rubblefang choked on his words. "…You saved me again," he finally managed. "Why? You know I'll never go back to you."

"You'll never go back to the Alliance," Mist murmured. "You'll always go back to me. Even if your brother despised me, you never truly did. I could see it in your face."

"You're wrong," Rubblefang mewed. "You never even called us by our real names! All you ever wanted was to get us back on your side. Well, Strikestar is dead now thanks to an Alliance cat. If you really cared about him, you would have stopped her!"

He wondered if he really meant what he was saying. He knew Strikestar would have meant it if Rubblefang had been the one to die. In that version of reality, he would have already ripped Mist's throat out. But Rubblefang was not Strikestar. And yet he wasn't Honeystar either, forgiving her long-lost sister and letting her guard down only to be betrayed.

"Listen, Rubble, or whatever name you want me to call you." Mist cast her gaze up to the top of the tree. "I saw your friend- Honeypool, is it? - looking for Dewdrop. She's met up with the rest of RogueClan and explained everything. She's sent them back to your camp to stay safe. Now, I want you to run back and join them. I will kill Dewdrop, and tell Arrow that it was you or one of your friends."

"Her name is Honeystar now," Rubblefang informed her proudly. "She's the Clan leader now that Strikestar is gone." Then the rest of what Mist had said caught up with his mind. "Wait, you're going to kill one of your own?!"

"Lady Dewdrop isn't my kin," she snarled. "And a 'lady' is all she is ever suited to be. I am a queen, and Arrow is a king, but Dewdrop… she is something that cannot be called anything other than a rogue. Alliance cats must make an oath of loyalty upon joining, but she never had to make any such an oath. She gets Jet and Jack to fight for her, she sets up dirty tricks and traps, and she manipulates her enemies. This is not the Alliance way, and from what I understand it's not the warrior way either."

Rubblefang nodded; Mist was right. The Alliance was far from honourable, but Dewdrop's mind seemed to be set only on killing. At least Mist loved her kin. Dewdrop had attempted to murder her own sister, and had very nearly succeeded.

Still, Honeystar had seemed so set on doing Dewdrop in herself…

"Is Honeystar still out here tracking down Dewdrop?"

"From what I understand, she is. But I don't-"

Mist broke off, pressing her ears flat and hissing. Rubblefang was confused for a moment before he saw what she was seeing. Up in the tree, Dewdrop was watching them, bemused. She casually rolled a good-sized stone back and forth under her paw. Was she going to drop it on them?

"Oh, so you want to kill me, do you?" she purred. "Well, you'd better get up here, then."

"Oh, I will," Mist growled.

Rubblefang wanted to warn her against it, but she moved too fast, darting up the tree. Dewdrop rolled the rock out from under her paw and for a horrifying second it looked like Mist wouldn't dodge it, but she did, although the rock clipped her left ear.

Dewdrop jumped down from her branch just as Mist reached her, and the two she-cats collided in midair. Rubblefang looked on as they tangled themselves in the high branches, biting and clawing at each other ferociously. Eventually Mist knocked Dewdrop away, sending her tumbling down from one branch to another until she hit the ground, hard but not hard enough to put her out of commission. Mist followed her down and they resumed fighting.

Rubblefang was conflicted- should he run away and go find Honeystar? Or should he try to help Mist? He decided that Mist was more capable than he was, so he ran off to go look for Honeystar.

It didn't take long to find her. She was wandering around near the pile of coniferous branches that she and Dewdrop had collected earlier.

"Rubblefang!" she mewed with relief when she saw him. "I'm glad to see you're okay. I was worried that Dewdrop might have hurt you."

"She threw me out of a tree," he admitted. "But Mist showed up and saved me."

"Mist is here too?!" Honeystar's eyes widened. "Where are they now?"

"I'll show you," Rubblefang mewed. "Follow me."

He led her to the spot where Mist and Dewdrop had been fighting a minute ago. But the scrap was over. Dewdrop stood panting over a fallen Mist, whose sides still rose and fell, but raggedly.

"Dewdrop!" Honeystar's cry was the kind that demanded that all who heard it listen. "Why did you try to kill me?!"

Dewdrop's head shot up and her blazing eyes met Honeystar's. Rubblefang felt like he was watching two of the same cat, although their colour palettes were drastically different. Honeystar took a step toward Dewdrop, who took a step back. Dewdrop bared her fangs, and so did Honeystar.

Finally, they lunged at each other. Dewdrop was a malevolent cat, and she was powerful in her own twisted way, but paw-to-paw combat was a warrior's domain. Honeystar had her pinned down in a matter of seconds. Rubblefang looked on nervously, wondering if Honeystar really was going to kill her.

Honeystar lifted a powerful front paw over Dewdrop's head, and she looked like she had no qualms whatsoever about killing Dewdrop, as she had sworn she would do. But then she hesitated, and in that moment, Dewdrop jabbed her claws into Honeystar's sides. Honeystar wailed in agony, and Rubblefang cringed at the sight of his friend in pain. He wanted to help, but he didn't feel that he could do anything to help. Instead he ran to Mist's side; maybe he could help her.

Mist appeared semi-conscious; her eyelids flickered over vacant eyes, staring aimlessly off into the distance. She seemed to be in good shape for the most part, but there must have been some damage under the surface that Rubblefang couldn't see.

"How bad did she hurt you?" Rubblefang demanded.

"Huh?" Mist weakly lifted her head to gaze at him bleakly. "…I-I think I'm okay. But tell me, Rubble, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Mist," Rubblefang assured her, worry pricking at his pelt. Was she really okay? "Now, where does it hurt?"

"That doesn't matter," she meowed, her gaze sharpening. "Hurry, Rubble, and take me back to the Alliance headquarters. They can treat me there, and they cannot survive without their queen."

"Frostglaze could treat you better than they could," he mewed indignantly. "If you want to enter Alliance territory, you'll have to get there yourself."

"I will not accept your pathetic RogueClan herbs!" she hissed, but it turned into a cough halfway through. Mist lay on her side in the snow for a moment, looking pretty pathetic herself, before mumbling, "I suppose it would be better to live than to die, don't you agree, Rubble?"

"You'll come with me, then?" he mewed hopefully, relief washing over him.

"I can't walk; my leg is broken." Mist shifted her right hind leg, wincing in pain. "You'll have to carry me. Do you think you can manage that?"

Rubblefang wondered if he could, but he'd be willing to try. He glanced back to Honeystar and Dewdrop, who were still fighting. Every time Honeystar would gain the advantage, she'd hold back, and Dewdrop would strike to even the playing field out again. It was infuriating for Rubblefang to watch, but he knew it was not his fight.

"Honeystar, I'm going to take Mist back to camp!" he called to her. "And remember, don't go so easy on Dewdrop! She wouldn't do the same for you."

Honeystar didn't reply, and Rubblefang couldn't blame her; she was still locked in combat. He didn't even know if she'd heard him. But he had no time to wait around for an answer, so he helped Mist to her paws and tried to lift her onto his back.

However, the weight was too much for Rubblefang to carry. Mist had to make do with leaning up against him instead.

"This is an outrage," she grumbled as they walked. "Need I remind you that I am a queen?"

"You're a long way away from your throne, though," Rubblefang muttered. "While you're on RogueClan land, you have no power over any of us."

"Spoken like a true prince," Mist murmured fondly. Rubblefang was going to object, but Mist didn't add anything about coming back to the Alliance, so he didn't say anything about it either.

It wasn't until they hobbled into camp that Rubblefang realized how tired he was. It was long past moonhigh, and he had barely gotten a half-hour of sleep all night. So many things had happened within twenty-four hours of each other- Strikestar's death, Honeystar's leader ceremony, Dewdrop's true intentions being revealed, Mist showing up to save Rubblefang at the last second. He hadn't even had time to think about rest.

"There's a cat here who needs help," Rubblefang called softly, poking his head into Frostglaze's den. "Her back leg is broken."

"Rubblefang?!" Frostglaze lifted his head, blinking. "Oh, thank the stars, you're finally back! Honeystar explained everything that happened to us. Is she with you now?"

"No, but somebody else is."

Frostglaze hesitated when he saw Mist. He curled his tail protectively around his sleeping kits.

"Oh, come now, do I really look like I'm in any shape to hurt you?" Mist sighed. "I know we aren't exactly the best of friends, but RogueClan and the Alliance have a truce, remember? Please just heal me so I can go back out there and kill Dewdrop."

"Not so fast," Frostglaze meowed. "A broken limb isn't something you can fix in an instant. There'll be no more fighting for you tonight- or for at least a few weeks while your leg heals."

"That's ridiculous," Mist snorted. "Jack fell out of a tree and broke both his front legs once, but he was still there to fight off a badger that had come poking around our territory. And then there was the time when Quince and Sally had some kind of spat and Sally's tail got halfway chopped off. I don't even know how she managed to do that, but it's Quince's favourite story to tell me."

Mist rambled on, recounting tales of Alliance cats who'd managed to grin and bear it when they'd gotten serious injuries. Frostglaze didn't even bother trying to get her back onto the topic of her broken leg, but he started picking out herbs to make a poultice.

"Do you want to chew up this dock root for me, Rubblefang?" he asked. "It's fine if you don't," he added. "You've been through a lot tonight. I think it's important for you to get some rest."

"Thanks," Rubblefang mumbled.

He had already settled down in the bramble bush when he remembered that he was a warrior now. He got up and moved to the warriors' den, lying down in Honeystar's empty nest. He supposed that now she was leader, she'd have her nest where Strikestar's used to be. He hoped she would finish off Dewdrop quickly and come back.

Rubblefang was still worried about so many things, but he couldn't think of any of them as soon as he shut his eye and let sleep wash over him- not even what he'd find in the morning.


	36. Chapter 36

The stars shone on overhead, hanging in the sky like snowflakes on a sheet of black ice. It seemed odd to think that the same stars that were home to countless long-lead cats could observe a battle with such soullessness. But this was not a battle of the stars; it was a one-on-one match between two desperate cats.

Had they been fighting for minutes or hours? The pain that wracked Honeystar's body screamed for her to put an end to it, as did her better judgement. Dewdrop stumbled once again, exposing her soft belly fur for a second. Honeystar's claws could have flashed out at that moment and sliced Dewdrop's stomach open. But she kept her paws tucked in close to her chest as she crouched, waiting for the moment she knew would never come: the moment when she'd be ready to finish this.

She had been so certain of what she had to do when she'd told Rubblefang her intentions. But now that it would be so easy to kill Dewdrop, Honeystar couldn't bring herself to. She cursed herself for her weakness. It wasn't fair! Why did she have to be such an emotional being? Honeystar wished she could turn her heart to ice, just for a minute- long enough to get the job done. But as long as she knew who Dewdrop was to her, or at least who she had once been, she couldn't force herself to harm her.

Dewdrop jumped onto Honeystar's back, digging her claws in- but perhaps not as hard as she could have. Maybe she was holding back too. Honeystar twisted around, throwing Dewdrop off her. She lay on the ground for around twenty seconds; Honeystar was counting. There was an almost questioning expression on her face. Then she slowly climbed to her paws.

"Why do you keep letting me live?!" she demanded. "You know I wouldn't do the same for you! Why won't you just hurry up and kill me already?"

"Why won't you just kill me?" Honeystar shot back. "You didn't have any problem with trying it once already."

Dewdrop didn't answer. She seemed… scared. Honeystar fought against letting her guard down like she had before. There was no getting through to her sister; she realized that now. But knowing something and acting on it were two different things.

"The two of us are alone now, Dewdrop," Honeystar mewed. "The only thing you have to be scared of is me."

She took a step toward her sister, who flinched. She looked so vulnerable. But Honeystar wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. She kept her eyes on Dewdrop's claws as she spoke, the tips of which barely protruded from her paws.

"There are no tricks you can play on me now," she continued. "Just attack me like you really mean it, because I know you do."

"Honeystar! You know I can't fight like you can!" Dewdrop's mew sounded almost accusing. "Stop projecting your own shortcomings onto me, because it's you who is letting me win, not the other way around!"

It was true, of course. Every fibre of Honeystar's being wanted her to do one thing, but some invisible part of her had taken control- the part of her that could never see a cat for who they truly were, as long as she wanted them to be somebody else.

Dewdrop stared at Honeystar, and she could tell she was looking right at that invisible part of her. What did she think of it? When Honeystar looked back, all she saw was a waste of what could have been a beautiful life.

"We could have shared that life," she whispered, although she knew Dewdrop wouldn't understand what she meant. "It could have been ours if you hadn't been taken from me." Resentment for the Alliance surged up in Honeystar's chest. "You don't need to keep being this cat. Arrow isn't watching."

"None of your Clanmates are watching, either," Dewdrop observed, tilting her head slightly and smiling in a twisted way. "But you're still the cat you became while living with them. Why should I still hold some ancient love for the life I can barely remember?"

"You still remember it perfectly fine," Honeystar said accusingly. "You remember playing with me when we were kits, don't you? I know you remember the riverside. And the rock-wall-cave- although you weren't there for long- you still remember being there, don't you?"

It was as clear as day to Honeystar. The rock face stretching up, up, up, above them. Had Honeykit not seen it from the bottom, she wouldn't have believed it had a top. It just seemed to keep going and going forever. Dewkit was already near the top, shouting down to assure her that they were almost there. With a final surge of energy, Honeykit propelled herself up to a higher ledge. But her paws slipped on the moss that lined the ledge and she fell backward, crying out in shock…

"You saved me that day," Honeystar murmured. "How can you hate me now?"

"If I could go back in time to that moment, I'd let you fall."

Dewdrop's unblinking stare revealed nothing other than what she said, no matter how hard Honeystar searched for a sign that she didn't really mean it.

"Do you really mean that?" she asked even though she already knew the answer.

"Yes," Dewdrop answered simply.

Somewhere deep within Honeystar, something shifted. It was like a boulder sat blocking the path of a river, but some cat had finally rolled it out of the way. Now all the water that had been blocked up at the top was able to come crashing down in a waterfall of blind rage. It was not emotionless as Honeystar had begged herself to become, even just for a second. Instead, it was the most passionate she'd ever felt. But now she had finally been able to let go and harness the correct emotions.

 _Thank you for giving me the confirmation I needed_ , she felt herself thinking. _Now I know what I hoped I hadn't known all along- that there's no saving the cat I used to know._

 _"You're welcome,"_ she thought she heard someone whisper. But maybe it was only her imagination. In fact, maybe nothing had really been said at all…

As Honeystar leapt onto Dewdrop, she felt as though she were waking up from a dream. Now she could finally let herself finish what she'd started. The cat who she used to call her sister tried to strike out at her, but Honeystar bit down on her front leg. Dewdrop shrieked; Honeystar didn't shrink away at the sound this time. Yes, this really was a different cat than the one she still missed so dearly. No, that cat was never coming back, and no, that cat was nowhere inside of the one Honeystar was fighting now. So yes, this battle was over.

"Sister, please stop hurting me!" Dewdrop pleaded while she thrashed around under Honeystar's grip. "I didn't mean to hurt you before. The dog fangs they put in our claws get slippery, and sometimes they just pop out without us meaning to! If I'd really wanted to do you any harm, I would have done so already! Please, just let me go!"

"Well, that's funny," Honeystar growled. "For a cat who doesn't want to hurt anybody, you sure do have a lot of blood on your paws."

She could see the face of a stranger below her. Its wide pale blue eyes were filled with a thousand emotions, both real and fake. Its gray-and-white fur was no longer immaculately groomed after tumbling about in the snow for so long. Her bright pick collar…

Suddenly Honeystar realized just how thick the material of the collar was. What need would she have for it to be that thick? Unless… she was hiding something inside of it…

In a quick motion, Honeystar reached for Dewdrop's neck. She shrunk back, wailing. But instead of doing what she could have done, Honeystar simply flipped the collar around so that the inside faced out, and vice versa. Then she pulled away, acting like the wild kick that Dewdrop had thrown had connected.

"There is no blood on my paws that you don't also have on yours," Dewdrop accused. "I am an innocent compared to you."

That was an absurd claim, of course, but Honeystar decided to play along. She gazed longingly at Dewdrop- or she pretended to, at least. She feared that if she really looked too deep into those eyes, she'd start looking for something she recognized again.

"Come closer, sister," she whispered, trying to make her voice sound hoarse. What with how tired she was, it wasn't difficult. "We need to talk, for real this time. No tricks, no betrayals, no trying to be someone we're not. Just the two of us, the way we used to be. Please?"

Dewdrop looked suspicious, but she obliged. She leaned in close to Honeystar again.

"You're right, you know," she sighed. "I really didn't mean anything I said earlier. But I always fear that Arrow is watching me somehow."

"This isn't who even Arrow wants you to be," Honeystar told her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dewdrop's paws slightly shift position. "For one thing, not even he wants you alive," she added.

With that, she dug her claws into Dewdrop's paws so she couldn't attack her. She hoped her theory about the collar was correct, because she'd end up looking like a mouse-brain if it wasn't. Dewdrop yanked her paws out from under Honeystar's, but the dog fang enhancements tumbled out. Still, she swung at Honeystar, who ducked.

Honeystar jumped up as though to headbutt Dewdrop, and sure enough, she reached up and pressed a button on her collar. A sound reminiscent of claws unsheathing could be heard, followed by a cut-off gasp. Blood began to trickle down from below Dewdrop's collar. She grabbed at the collar, tugging on it and trying to take it off. Finally, she managed to snap it in half with her teeth, revealing the fangs that studded the inside- which should have been the outside.

"You." The dawning realization in Dewdrop's terrified face turned to fury. "I thought you warriors were supposed to have some kind of honour."

Honeystar shrugged.

"Consider it revenge," she mewed. "Besides, you were going to use those fangs on me, right?"

Dewdrop wasn't even in the league of being able to play innocent now. But it didn't matter, because the retractable dog fangs that studded her collar had dug into her neck, and she was losing too much blood. Maybe some cat could have saved her if they'd wanted, but from what Honeystar could tell, no cat really would have.

There was no point in watching this cat die. As far as Honeystar was concerned, lady Dewdrop, heir to the Alliance, had never existed. Her sister really had died on her first day as an apprentice. Honeystar turned to walk away, not bothering to look back even though she could hear Dewdrop trying to run after her, screaming out curses. Soon enough, the screams faded away, and then Honeystar heard a gurgle and a dull thump.

She tried not to imagine what was behind her, and tried not to think of it as something she had done. It was what Dewdrop had done to herself, really. She could have run when she'd had the chance.

Honeystar plodded back into the RogueClan camp, forgetting entirely that she was now leader, and headed straight for the warriors' den. She lay down beside Rubblefang, curling around him and letting his soft, familiar scent soothe her exhausted body.


	37. Chapter 37

The first thing Rubblefang felt, even before waking up, was this wonderful feeling of warmth. It seeped into his deep and troubled sleep to bring him dreams of a simpler time, so long ago that his waking mind had no memory of it. It was a time when all he knew was himself and Mist, with perhaps the vaguest inkling that there were other things in the world- maybe, for instance, another cat just like him but bigger, who stood watching him from the gloom that was the rest of the universe.

As the sun crept higher in the sky, the dreams faded like dew from the grass. Rubblefang was finally woken up when a cool wind ruffled his fur and he realized the warmth that had enveloped him was gone. He mewled like a newborn kit, stretching out to reach for the vanished warmth, before he realized whose scent wreathed around him- Honeystar! Had she been curled up next to him? Rubblefang's face grew hot under his fur.

By the time he crawled out of the warriors' den, it was already past sunhigh. The fresh-kill pile was currently nonexistent, but he was assured that Rustleleaf had volunteered to go hunting with Browndapple so she could test out her capabilities with the stick that acted as her artificial leg. It certainly was nice of him to be so supportive of his mate. Rubblefang hoped that if he ever had a mate, they'd love each other as much as those two.

And speaking of loving, Mist lay on her side, staring reproachfully at Frostglaze while he and his kits worked on what would become the new medicine cat den. Leaf-bare was coming to an end, and the snowbank he'd been using before wouldn't be very practical as the temperatures grew warmer, so he was building a structure similar to a beaver dam out of the branches that the Alliance had torn off and scattered around the camp when they'd taken over. Nearby, Specklestone, Squirreltail, and Bearpelt were doing the same thing, this time for a new warriors' den. Rubblefang thought it was about time; he'd never understood why RogueClan always slept under trees instead of making proper dens.

Rubblefang had been dreading having to see Mist in the camp. He'd known when he'd brought her there that it would make things awkward for every cat, himself especially. At least her leg didn't look too bad; maybe she'd be able to go home sooner than Frostglaze had thought.

"Why, good morning, Rubble," Mist greeted him when she saw him staring. "Or should I say good afternoon? Not that I blame you for sleeping in after all you went through last night- your little friend looked pretty shaken up too when she came back about a half-hour after you brought me back here."

"Where's Honeystar now?" Rubblefang asked, aiming his question at Frostglaze and doing his best to avoid eye contact with Mist.

"She's out in the woods with Emberfur," Frostglaze meowed. "I wouldn't go after them if I were you. Sometimes two she-cats just need to be left alone to talk amongst themselves."

"Yeah, but I want to talk to somebody too," Rubblefang admitted. "Now that Strikestar is gone, Honeystar is the cat I'm closest to in this Clan."

"Oh, so your friend _Honeystar_ is the cat you're closest to, hmm?" Mist muttered. "I guess you don't have any love at all for your poor old mother, then."

"You're not even in this Clan, Mist." Rubblefang was frustrated by Mist's constant attempts to make herself part of his life. He didn't hate her, but he didn't want anything to do with her either. "As soon as your leg is healed, you're going back to the Alliance. I just hope you don't steal any more kits to make a new heir for yourselves again."

"And what if I said I want nothing more to do with that grimy, miserable hole?"

"What do you mean?" Rubblefang eyed her suspiciously.

"I mean, my dear son," Mist purred, "that I'm going to disband the Alliance."

"I still can't believe you really killed her," Emberfur muttered. "I mean, she was you sister! Didn't you still feel any connection to her?"

"Of course I still felt a connection to her," Honeystar sighed. "The only problem was that it wasn't mutual. If it weren't for the circumstances, she would have killed me. She was going to try to use the same trick on me again. I simply had no choice."

Emberfur gazed up at the willow tree. Its branches swayed slightly in the breeze.

"That doesn't sound like you," she murmured. "I would have thought you'd never give up on her, even if it ended up killing you."

"That's what I was going to do," Honeystar admitted. "But then I… experienced something. At the time I thought Dewdrop was talking to me, and I was talking back. But looking back on it, I don't think that conversation was real. I think maybe it was just my own mind telling me it was time to stop putting off the inevitable- that one of us was going to have to kill the other sooner or later."

She closed her eyes and remembered the voice whispering "you're welcome". Could it really have been the voice of her sister- her real sister? What happened when a cat changed as much as Dewdrop had? Did their spirit truly remain the same, or did it leave somewhere along the way? It was a silly thought, but Honeystar wanted to imagine that the spirit of the cat she remembered from her kithood was still out there somewhere, waiting for her among the stars.

"Are you ready to head back to camp now?" Emberfur asked.

"Not just yet," Honeystar told her. "But you can go whenever you're ready."

They sat in silence beside each other for a long moment. Finally, Emberfur got up and wordlessly walked away. Once she was out of earshot, Honeystar rose to her paws and walked around to the back of the willow, where Emberfur had helped her bury Dewdrop.

"Are you sure you want to bury her?" Emberfur had asked her. "I mean, you're the one who killed her. Doesn't it seem wrong to you?"

It had, but it had also felt important to Honeystar. Besides, she had explained, always trying to seem the practical one, they couldn't very well just leave a corpse lying around in the forest. That was true, but that hadn't been the only reason. Honeystar had thought of it as not so much burying the cat she had killed, but laying old regrets to rest. Her sister truly was dead now, in every aspect, and she could finally stop living in horror at the thought of what should have been a happy day- her first day as an apprentice. Now, Honeystar could finally move on.

And move on she would, because she was the leader of RogueClan now. It had been her idea to build proper dens, even though RogueClan hadn't done so in the past. Maybe it was time that they stop being a nomadic Clan.

Oh, and she also needed to elect a deputy, she supposed. She was tempted to pick Emberfur, but her tortoiseshell friend wasn't cut out to be a deputy. Neither was Bearpelt- he slept in too often. Her parents? She wrinkled her face at the thought. It would be much too awkward. Rubblefang and Fishleap were much too young, and Browndapple had half a leg missing. Honeystar felt a pang of remorse that Darkstep had been lost in the battle with the Alliance. She would have been the perfect deputy. But as it was, Rustleleaf seemed to be the only viable option. He would do, she supposed.

"Me?!" Rustleleaf's eyes shone with excitement and disbelief as he gazed up at Honeystar.

"That's right," she mewed. "You have proven yourself worthy of being deputy." She smiled kindly at him. "Now, I know that RogueClan was a bit unorthodox with its structure under Acornstar and Strikestar's rules, but while I'm in charge we're going to do things the proper way. I will be in charge of all major decisions, but the rest of you will get some say in it. Rustleleaf, as deputy, you'll be in charge of assigning patrols."

"Congratulations," Browndapple murmured, pressing her muzzle against his. "You're going to do great."

"I hope I do." Rustleleaf turned back to Honeystar, pride sparkling in his eyes. "You can count on me, Honeystar. It will be an honour to act as deputy to such a fine leader."

"I think it's a bit early to be judging me on my merits as a leader," Honeystar laughed. "But I'll do my best not to let any of you down. With that said, meeting adjourned!"

Rubblefang ran up to Honeystar the second her paws touched the ground. She had looked so magnificent up on that stump, addressing the Clan! He told her so, doing his best to convey his utter adoration for her without sounding like he was trying too hard. Honeystar smiled and nodded, but she wasn't looking directly at him. Instead, she appeared to be glancing over his shoulder. Rubblefang turned around to see who she was looking at.

Mist had removed her fang-studded collar, and yanked out the dog fang-claws. She rolled one fang back and forth beneath her paw absentmindedly.

Honeystar walked over to Mist and spoke to her in hushed tones for a few minutes. Rubblefang didn't bother to listen in on them. He could guess what they were talking about. Eventually, they both walked over to him. Mist's injured leg was wrapped up with a splint and a poultice to keep it from getting infected. She looked mildly upset, but she stooped down and picked her collar back up.

"It looks like I'm not welcome here," she said dryly. "Imagine that."

"I'm sorry," Rubblefang mewed. It was all he could think of to say.

"Oh, don't be sorry," Mist sighed. "You wouldn't have wanted me here anyway. I didn't even want myself here. I just thought I'd give it a shot."

She took a step, wincing. Rubblefang moved to her side, letting her lean up against him. Together, they walked out of camp and along the edge of the twoleg walking trail, heading toward the thunderpath.

"Are you still going to disband the Alliance?" he asked.

"Well, it won't really be disbanding the Alliance," she purred. "All it will really accomplish is splitting the one we've got now into four or five new, smaller Alliances- minus a few cats who decide to become rogues, loners, and kittypets- or join your Clan, I suppose, if you'd consider letting any of them in. But the majority of my cats are too stubborn. They'll just start up their own Alliances. Arrow might even do so himself."

She stopped to catch her breath. A family of twolegs was walking along the trail, making noises that sounded almost musical in cadence, as though they were mimicking birdsong. Rubblefang led Mist off the trail and they hid in the underbrush while the twolegs walked by, resuming their walk once the family had passed.

They didn't talk again until they reached the thunderpath. Monsters zipped by every minute or so, unaware of the two cats waiting to cross, or the stories they had to tell.

"What are you going to do?" Rubblefang finally asked as they waited for a gap in the traffic. "Once you've disbanded the Alliance, I mean. Are you and Arrow going to stay together? Will you become a rogue?"

"I'll do my best to stay with Arrow," Mist mewed. "As for what I'll do… perhaps I'll live in twolegplace. I've heard the nearest twolegplace is small and close to the water, with a lot of nature. That sounds ideal."

"Maybe you can start up a Clan of your own," Rubblefang joked. "I'm sure every cat would want to join."

"I just might do that," Mist purred, her whiskers quivering. Then she became serious again. "I know Frostglaze wanted me to stay with RogueClan until my leg heals, but I can't live there and look at you every day, knowing you'll never want to join me. My leg can heal without the help of those silly Clan medicines. And I can live without you, or the title of queen. Just watch me."

"I'm sure you'll make a great rogue," Rubblefang mewed.

"And I know you'll always be a great warrior." Mist's eyes glimmered. "Now go back home and tell that honey-coloured cat that you like her, okay? I don't want to live knowing my son is too shy to tell a she-cat his feelings."

Rubblefang gulped. Would Honeystar really have time for a cat like him? But he knew his mother was right. Even if she turned him down, it would be best if he knew for once and for all.

"I'll tell her," he promised. "Now take care, okay?"

"You too," Mist called. The she turned and, making sure to favour her injured leg, bounded across the thunderpath.

Rubblefang watched as she got to the other side and limped to the Alliance headquarters. A couple more monsters drove by while he sat and watched. Then suddenly cats began to pour out of the decrepit old twoleg building, spreading out and going off in large clumps or on their own in many different directions.

Finally, he turned and headed back to the RogueClan camp. There, he found Frostglaze worked nearly into a panic. Honeystar was trying to calm him down.

"Rubblefang went with her," she was telling him.

"Oh, Rubblefang went with her! That's just wonderful!" he meowed sarcastically. "I mean, if the queen of the Alliance takes her son along with her, nothing bad could possibly happen, right?" He glanced up at Rubblefang, letting out a brief sigh of relief. "Okay, so it looks like everything went fine. But that still doesn't mean it was a good idea!"

"She said she was going to disband the Alliance," Honeystar explained. "She said it was something she had to do."

"She should have waited until her leg healed!"

Rubblefang couldn't help but agree with Frostglaze, but there was something else pressing on his mind, He pushed past the medicine cat and faced Honeystar, his heart pounding already.

"Um, Honeystar, there's something I want to talk to you about," he mumbled, pulling her aside. "Do you remember our talk last night?"

"Sure," she mewed. "And my stance is still the same as it was then."

Rubblefang blinked.

"So then you don't like me?"

"Rubblefang, you're nine moons old!" Honeystar sounded so amused, but Rubblefang was frustrated. Why didn't she take him seriously? "Even I'm barely over a year old. We're both too young- and you especially are! You have to learn to wait for certain things, and I'm one of them."

Rubblefang was disappointed, but he understood. He'd been hoping that there would be a black-and-white answer to his question, but some things were more complicated than that- like the morality of Mist, or even the morality of Strikestar. A cat who tried to drown his brother might one day be a noble Clan cat, and a ruthless evil queen might still love her family. Honeystar might love him one day, and she might not. Rubblefang would be willing to wait to find out.

"How are things going to be from now on, Honeystar?" he mewed. "I don't just mean between you and me, I mean for the whole Clan- for the whole world."

"They're going to be good, Rubblefang." Honeystar's ear began to twitch as she gazed at the sky. A light rain began to fall, clearing away the snow. "Even if we have to work hard to make them that way, they're going to be good."

Rubblefang smiled. She was right, of course. As their Clanmates scurried around them, running to hide from the rain, Rubblefang pressed himself up against Honeypool, closing his eye contentedly.

The future was looking brighter than ever.

FINIS

 **A/N: Wow! It's finally over! I really wasn't sure how I wanted to wrap things up at first. I was going to have an epilogue, buuuut I decided to leave their futures open to your imaginations. What do you think will happen next to these lovely young cats? It's up to you to decide for yourselves! :D**


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